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yandere-daydreams · 11 months ago

Text

Title: Nurture.

Paring: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation Of Nursle.

Word Count: 11.0k.

TW: Dub/Con, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Imprisonment, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Semi-Public Sex, Forced Marriage, Panic Attacks/Disassociation, Mentions of Stalking, and Nonchronological Timelines. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One] [Part Three]

You were never supposed to meet Geto Suguru.

It’d been a misstep in the never-ending trudge that was the cosmic timeline; a mistake on behalf of the universe that left you on the doorstep of his temple, glancing between the rustic entryway and the scrap of paper one of your student’s mothers had slipped into your hand a few weeks prior. “They should be able to help with your little problem,” she’d explained with a wink, a knowing glance towards your stiff shoulders, the dark bags under your eyes. “One visit, and you’ll feel like a teenager again.”

You’d smiled politely and told her that you’d give it a try and shoved her note into a drawer below your desk to be swiftly forgotten. You went to a doctor, then a chiropractor, then a psychologist, then briefly considered making an appointment with a fortune teller before finally relenting and deciding that you were, in fact, desperate enough for a miracle healer. It took three trains, two taxis, and more than a handful of helpful strangers, but you’d arrived at the messily scrawled address in one piece. You could still turn around, try your luck with another specialist, another bottle of over-the-counter sleeping pills – sane solutions that sane people fell back on when they encountered problems that sane people had. You could go back to your flat, your ever-growing pile of ungraded tests, and pretend you’d never been here at all. You could do the thing that crazy, desperate people didn’t do, and you could leave.

You took a deep breath, braced yourself, and crossed into the entryway.

An attendant caught you as soon as you’d stepped inside. He was male, middle-aged, wearing the most strained, plastered-on smile you’d ever seen as he bowed his head to you. After a moment of nervous delay, you returned the gesture. “I—Uh, a friend of mine pointed me in your direction,” you stuttered out, doing your best to speak through your anxiety. “She said your head priest could…”

You trailed off, struggling to find the right words. Thankfully, the attendant cut in before you could make yourself look like a complete moron. “Geto-sama?” Impossibly, his smile widened even further. “You’ve come to the right place - he’s a truly miraculous healer. He’s seeing another poor, suffering soul at the moment, but you’re free to wait outside of his sanctuary.”

With a quick nod and a few words of thanks, you were swiftly taken to and abandoned in a small sitting room that, you could only guess, led into the innermost shrine. You sunk into a remarkably uncomfortable wooden chair and managed to sit still for all of three seconds before looking for your next distraction. Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to find.

Two girls sat on the other side of the room; sisters, you guessed, if not twins. One (Mimiko – it’d still be a few days before you learned her name) was perched on the edge of a chair identical to your own while the other (Nanako) sat cross-legged on the floor between her legs, fiddling with a hand-held console as her sister tried and failed to braid her hair. You couldn’t help yourself – a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you watched Mimiko clumsily fumble with the messily divided strands of hair, her frustration written clearly across her expression. You’d always been comfortable around kids, as much as you never wanted to have your own. You didn’t know much about healing priests or mystic illnesses, but you knew how to handle a struggling seven-year-old.

When she looked away from her work, seeming to notice you for the first time, you offered her a bright smile, a quick wave. “Having a hard time?” you asked, gesturing towards her messy handiwork. “I can show you a few tricks, if you’d like.”

There was a long moment of hesitation, a quick look shared with her sister. “I understand if you don’t trust my credentials, but…” You fished out a few spare hair-ties out of your pocket: bright pink and adorned with equally garish bows, the color and design enough to make Nanako’s eyes light up. One of your more absent-minded students tended to forget hers, and you’d gotten into the habit of carrying a healthy stockpile on her behalf. “I did bring my own supplies.”

A few minutes later, you found yourself dutifully combing out Mimiko’s hair while Nanako admired her new pigtails. They seemed reluctant to talk to you, but you did your best to make polite conversation – well, as much as you could with two stand-offish grade schoolers. “Are you two waiting for someone?”

Mimiko pursed her lips, but Nanako wasn’t so shy. “Our dad,” she filled in, the kind of pride only an idealistic child could have for a parent heavy in her voice. “He hates monkeys.”

“Oh.” You did your best to sound surprised, rather than confused. “Does he work for the temple?”

“Mhm – he’s really strong, and super important.” She waited for you to num in acknowledgement, then went on. “You’re here to see him, right? He can definitely help you, if you are.”

Your hands faltered, a lock of Mimiko’s hair slipping out of your loose hold. “Your father’s… the head priest?”

Nanako nodded enthusiastically, and for the first time, Mimiko chimed in, “He’ll probably get rid of your creepy friend.”

This time, you stopped moving entirely. “I’m sorry, my friend?”

Mimiko glanced over her shoulder, moved to speak, but the screen door leading into the shrine slid open before she could answer you. It wasn’t an attendant, this time, but a man in monk’s garb with hair that reached past his shoulders and a grin less strained but just as artificial as that of his attendants. Geto Suguru, although it’d still be some time before you knew to call him that.

His dark eyes found you first, before moving to his daughters. “Girls,” he started, tone more playful than chiding. “Are you bothering my guests?”

The twins exchanged a long, weighty look before Nanako pushed herself to her feet and hurried to her father’s side. With a sigh of mock exasperation, he leaned down, letting her whisper something into his ear as you rushed to finish Mimiko’s braid. You couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it was enough to earn a pair of pursed lips from Suguru, a languid shake of his head. Without responding to her, he straightened his back, already ushering you inside. You took a deep breath, then followed him into the shrine.

He made no attempt to put on a show of false hospitality. Wordlessly, he left you loitering in the center of the very empty, very large room while he stepped onto a raised platform and collapsed onto his side, propping his elbow on a cushioned, stand-alone armrest. This time, when he sighed, it seemed to be out of a more genuine exhaustion, his eyes falling shut briefly as he propped his chin on his fist and brought his free hand to his temples. “I have to apologize for my daughters. If I could watch them constantly, it still wouldn’t be enough.” He opened his eyes, and instantly, you felt the full weight of his stare. If it hadn’t been a feeling you were so used to, it might’ve been enough to send a chill down your spine. “Now, how can I be of service to you?”

You dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to fidget. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping, lately. There’s been this weight on my back, like—”

“Like you’re being watched?”

He spoke confidently, as if answering a question he’d written himself. With your hands clenched into fists at your sides, you nodded. Suguru’s head lulled to the side, his smile taking on a satisfied lilt. “I thought so. Tell me – have you had any scorned lovers in the past? Boyfriends, fiancés, that type of thing?”

“A stalker,” you admitted. “But, he passed a few months ago. There was an accident, and—”

This time, he cut you off with a snap of his fingers. It was brief, barely a flash of movement, but you caught something in the corner of your eye – an amorphous shape perched above your right shoulder, a thousand eyes spotted across its baggy skin and a hundred curling tentacles wrapped around your arms, your chest, your stomach. You shut your eyes, winced, and when you opened them again, the creature was gone and Suguru held a small, pitch-black marble between his thumb and forefinger. He took a second to evaluate it before letting out an approving hum and bringing the marble to his lips, swallowing it whole. In your shock, it didn’t even occur to you to look away.

“These things tend to linger.” It was a meager explanation, but you accepted it whole-heartedly. For the first time in months, you were able to straighten your back, to drop your shoulders, to stand up without a single part of you crying out in protest. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so relieved.

“Thank you,” you nearly gasped, bowing at the waist. “Oh my god, I— I don’t have much money, but—”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask for compensation. Consider this—” A click of his tongue, a roll of his wrist. “—a favor between friends. The most I could ask for is a little of your time, in return.”

You would’ve given him your first-born child, if he’d asked for it. “Of course, anything. I really can’t thank you enough, sir.”

“It’s just— I’ve been trying to find a tutor for my daughters for the longest time, and they already seem fond of you.” For the first time since you’d stepped into his shrine, he sat up, facing you directly. “I understand that you’re a teacher?”

You left the temple a few minutes later, a new number programmed into your phone and a smile brighter than anything you’d worn in years painted across your lips.

You moved in with Satoru the same day he met Himari – as much being told to shove everything you couldn’t live without in a bag because you wouldn’t be coming back to your apartment could be called moving. You would’ve fought it more, but he’d been holding your daughter, and you couldn’t take that kind of risk with her. Not again.

Time seemed to pass in slow, thick clumps. Hours would pass in the blink of an eye and seconds would drag on and on and on until you couldn’t stand the idea of pretending you cared, anymore. A nursery was thrown together in one of Satoru’s guestrooms. When you mentioned that you’d never slept so far from her, Satoru cooed and kissed your cheek.

“It’ll be alright, baby. I’ve got enough monitors to last ‘till she’s eighteen. And, no offense, they’re a little more reliable than what you’ve been using.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll want her sharing a room with us.”

Something pricked at the back of your throat. “I could sleep in here, with—”

“Nope.” He was kind enough to shut you down before you could so much as start to get your hopes up. “Honestly, she should count herself lucky I’m willing to share at all.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Instead, you closed your eyes, and when you found the strength to open them again, the world was dark and your body was cold.

Once the novelty wore off, you fell into a steady routine. Once or twice a week, you’d make the trip to Suguru’s temple and do your best to drill seven years’ worth of public education into Mimiko and Nanako while their father saw his unfortunate visitors. They were smart girls, even if they were more interested in your love life than multiplication tables, and when you thought about Suguru had done for you, you couldn’t say you minded spending a few hours of your weekend in a scenic, rural temple surrounded by Suguru’s (sometimes off-putting, but never unpleasant) congregation.

It took two months before you saw Suguru’s composure slip. It’d been a mistake – an accident on your part as much as it was on his – but you hadn’t thought of it in such fatalistic terms in the moment.

You kept your hands in your pockets as you wandered through the temple’s courtyard, stretching your legs while the girls finished a worksheet on long division (chosen by Nanako over English contractions, much to Mimiko’s protest). Idly, eager to give them as much time as you could, you made your way around the inner sanctum’s perimeter, rounding a sharp corner before abruptly coming to a stop.

Geto sat on the edge of the raised porch, eyes closed and his shoulder braced against the side of a support beam. You moved to flee, to apologize for interrupting his meditation, but you noticed his hunched posture, his slightly parted lips, and let out a breath of a laugh, your panic fading into pity.

Ah, the poor thing.

He was so tired, he’d fallen asleep sitting up.

As little as you’d expected to see a grown man sleeping in public, you weren’t surprised. Suguru was always running himself ragged; either hosting guests or holding sermons or running errands on the temple’s behalf, always coming back with a certain weight to his steps and an off-kilter quirk to his smile. With a sigh, you kneeled next to him and after a moment of hesitation, shrugged off your coat, taking care not to wake him as you draped it over his shoulders. Immediately, he relaxed – an ounce of the tension in his shoulders dissolving as he slumped into himself. You’d considered waking him up, but decided against it. Your own months of sleepless nights and never-ending days were still fresh in your memory. You didn’t want to be the reason he missed out on a few precious minutes of much-needed rest.

You heard a screen door slide open, a high-pitched voice call your name from the other side of the temple. You pushed yourself to your feet, but paused, spared another glance toward Suguru. It was a stupid, spontaneous thing to do, you didn’t give yourself time to think better of it before brushing his bangs away from his face and pressing a kiss into his forehead – the kind of kiss you’d give to one of your students in the wake of scraped knees and playground arguments. When he failed to stir, you pulled back and crossed your arms over your chest, doing your best to keep yourself warm as you started back to where his girls were waiting for you.

Satoru was at your door as soon as the bell rang.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you must’ve known he wouldn’t give up old patterns so easily. He loitered in the hallway while your hyper-active students filtered out, slipped inside as the last of the stranglers did their best not to gawk at the inhumanely tall stranger with unnaturally white hair. By the time he crossed the threshold, you and Megumi were the only ones left, the latter dutifully waiting for his daily busy work at the corner of your desk.

Satoru acknowledged him with a click of his tongue, a quick ruffle to Megumi’s hair before he moved onto you. “There’s my pretty girl,” he half-said, half-sung as he slung an arm around your neck, pulling you into his chest. “Had you on my mind all day. Couldn’t stop wishin’ I had your pretty ti—”

You cleared your throat into your hand, nodding pointedly towards Megumi. Satoru’s grin faltered, then collapsed into a pursed-lipped frown. He didn’t say anything, but his thumb dug into your shoulder, his cruel eyes flickering to you over the dark lenses of his glasses. You didn’t need any further instruction. If Suguru taught you anything, it’d been how to get rid of unwanted company.

“Megumi.” You waved him toward you, and despite the mix of distrust and exasperation written clearly across his expression, he stepped forward. Still, you braced yourself before going on. As little as you wanted to associate him with Satoru, to blame him for what Satoru did to you, you hadn’t been able to meet his eyes all day. Whenever you looked at him, you couldn’t help but think about Himari, and whenever you thought about Himari—

“You usually walk home with Tsumiki today, right?” He didn’t, but you couldn’t think of a better excuse. Lately, it was all you could do to put one word in front of another, let alone actually manage to clear away enough of the thick, buzzing static clouding your mind to form an intelligent thought. “You should really get going, before she starts to think you left without her.”

His gaze dropped to the ground. He mumbled something just a breath below audible, and you forced yourself to smile. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone with him.” His tone was clipped, his eyes narrowed. “He’s… He’s gross, and weird, and you shouldn’t talk to him.”

If he’d been any other kid, if Satoru had been any other adult, you might’ve laughed, chided him for speaking so rudely about his elders. Instead, you only sighed, your smile faltering as you brought a hand to his shoulder. “We’re just going to have a little chat, that’s all. I promise, I’ll be just fine when we see each other tomorrow.” You paused, lowered your voice into something playfully conspiratorial. “Between you and me, I think he’s pretty weird too. Thanks for looking out for me.”

His scowl deepened, but he didn’t protest. After tossing one more glare in Satoru’s direction, he trudged out of your classroom, letting the door slam behind him. You didn’t have time to feel relief or dread or much of anything before Satoru was on top of you – his knee planted between your thighs, one of his hands groping at your waist while the other caught your chin, holding you in place while his lips crashed into yours, the kiss mess and open-mouthed and desperate. “The brat’s annoying,” he muttered, as he pulled away. “But I can’t say I don’t see where he’s coming from. If you’d been my teacher, I don’t think I would’ve been able to stop myself from bending you over your desk ‘n earning a little extra credit.”

A wave of nausea washed over you. You couldn’t stop yourself from buckling forward, but Satoru had already moved on, found his way to the side of your neck. “Please, don’t talk about my students like—”

Your voice gave out as he bit down – burying his teeth in your throat in less of a love-bite and more of an effort to eat you alive. You barely managed to stop yourself from crying out, but panic quickly swallowed whatever pain you might’ve felt. It’d leave a mark, one you wouldn’t be able to hide, not completely. Against your will, your mind flashed to Megumi and, if you’d been just a little weaker, you might’ve collapsed, passed out while Satoru lapped the blood now trickling down your throat. If you’d been just a little luckier, you might’ve fallen apart entirely.

Your hands shot to his hair, and Satoru let out a throaty groan. His hands fell to your thighs, and before you could so much as think to struggle, you were laid across your desk, folders and worksheets pushed aside in favor of trapping your body underneath his. “Always wanted to do this,” he muttered into your shoulder, already pulling your skirt to your waist. “Might have to go into teaching, too – just so you can return the favor.”

He might’ve gone on, but you were done listening.

You would have to request a change of classroom, tomorrow morning.

Nanako returned your coat to you a week later, rolling on the balls of her feet and grinning from ear to ear.

You saw Suguru more often, after that.

Granted, not too often, and never for very long. He was still a busy man, and most of your interactions were limited to minute-long conversations as you found each other heading in the same direction, a few niceties exchanged as you dropped Nanako and Mimiko off at the door of his shrine. He never struck you as overly guarded, but you could count the number of times you’d heard him speak about himself on a single hand. If it hadn’t been for his girls, you probably would never have learned his given name.

Winter had begun its swift and relentless approach, and you found yourself standing outside of the temple’s gates, watching the sun slip below the horizon and debating if it would be worth it to cough up the cash for a taxi, rather than dragging yourself through the labyrinth that was public transportation in the dark. As you checked your phone for the dozenth time, you caught a flash of movement in your peripheral and glanced up only to find Suguru – changed out of his monk’s garb and into a plain shirt and a pair of sweatpants that made him look more like an exhausted college student than the head of his own temple. He nodded to you by way of greeting, and you flashed him a smile. “Waiting for someone?”

“Something like that.” You looked back to your phone and sighed. “I might have to make our next session a little earlier. I forgot how dark it could get and, well, you know what it’s like in the city.”

You withered, but Suguru only brightened. “Let me give you a ride.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate to—”

“Please, (Y/n).” You could see why he had such a dedicated congregation. When he spoke, it was impossible not to listen. “Just think of it as a favor between friends.”

You wanted to refuse, to tell him not to waste his time, but a streetlamp buzzed to life somewhere above you and the last trace of your resolve crumbled. A few minutes later, you were in the back of a sleek, black car – Suguru sitting next to you and his driver hidden behind a tinted partition. More time than you would’ve liked passed in tense silence before you, more motivated by discomfort than gratitude, broke the quiet. “I was surprised when I found out Nanako and Mimiko were homeschooled.” Before he could respond, you realized how it must’ve sounded and tried to backtrack. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! It’s just—you’re always so busy, and they’re such bright girls. I’m sure that, if you ever did want to get them enrolled, they’d do very well. It’d free up a lot of your time, too.”

You thought you saw him wince, but it could’ve just been a trick of the light. By the time you turned to face him properly, his expression was unreadable – his lips pulled into a thin line and his dark eyes focused on some unseen point in the distance. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” he admitted, before letting an airy sigh. “But… I made a lot of bad choices, when I first took them in. The were a bad situation, and I was young and stupid, and I— I think I might’ve fucked things up. For them, at least. I probably would’ve ended up in the same place eventually.” Another sigh, a lengthy pause. When he went on, his tone was heavier, his usual confidence greatly diminished, if not absent entirely. “…you don’t think I made a mistake, do you?”

You took a second to think, letting your eyes fall to your lap. “I don’t,” you said, finally. “The girls seem happy, and you’re providing for them. They won’t have normal lives, but—” You hummed, shrugged. “Who does?”

He seemed to relax, the harsh edges of his expression dulling. His eyes shifted to you. “You’re not going to tell anyone, right?”

This time, you didn’t hesitate at all, shaking your head with a slight smile. “Consider it,” You let your tone dip into something teasing and secretive, raising your chin the way he tended to when talking to guests and members of his congregation. “a favor between friends.”

Your showmanship earned a dry chuckle, a softened gaze. After a long beat, he asked, “Would you mind if I, uh…” He trailed off, tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Would you mind if I tried something?”

Now, it was your turn to laugh. You’d assumed he was in his mid-twenties, but he must’ve been younger – he was acting like a teenager. “Go ahead, Suguru.”

Despite your reassurance, he stalled for a few seconds before, more than a little stiltedly, bending at his waist and resting his head gingerly on your lap. It was an awkward position, the back of the car too cramped for him to lay down properly, but his eyes fell shut and after the initial shock faded, you could only smile, raising a hand and combing your fingers idly through his hair. When you pulled the elastic band holding his half-bun together out of place, letting his hair fall loose over your thighs, he didn’t protest, only going that much more limp on top of you.

You two stayed that way for the rest of the trip; his head in your lap, your finger carding through his hair, the only noise that of traffic and the occasional muted hum when your attention started to drift. It was only when his driver pulled onto the curb in front of your complex that Suguru raised his head, blinking himself back into consciousness. You turned to let yourself out, only to feel him take up one of your hands – his fingers soon intertwined with yours. You didn’t have time to ask him what he was doing before you felt him cup your cheek, before you felt his mouth against yours.

The kiss was gentle but warm, shallow but lingering. He held you there, his lips barely yours, for a second, then another, before you snapped out of it and pulled away – your disgust as immediate as it was it was self-concentrated. If Suguru felt the same way, he hid it well. You could only make out the slightest trace of hurt in the down-turned corners of his parted lips.

He started to say something, but you were already rushing to apologize. “I’m sorry, Suguru. You’re a sweet kid, but I’m—” You forced yourself to laugh, the noise jolting and strained. “I’m nearly twice your age.”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t care how old you are.”

“Exactly.” You shook your head, dragging a hand over your face. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been more clear about, I don’t know,” You gestured vaguely. “—everything. And I should really—”

Again, you moved to leave, and again, he stopped you. This time, he caught you by the wrist. “I’m not a kid.” You tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened. You felt something in your forearm begin to ache. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you how serious I am.”

“Absolutely not.” You pried the door open and jerked away from him just in time to stumble out of his car and onto the pavement. You saw his posture straighten, his body tense as if he was going to try to lunge at you, but mercifully, he must’ve thought better of it. His anger was, instead, focused entirely into his unblinking stare, and you did your best to speak in spite of the way his eyes burnt into your chest. “I… I think it would be for the best if we didn’t see each other, for a while. Tell the girls I’m out of town, and—” You swallowed, dryly. “—I think you should get some rest, Suguru. You need it.”

As awful as it made you feel, you slammed the door shut before he could respond. He didn’t try to chase you, but his car hadn’t moved by the time you made it to your flat. With your doors locked and your blinds pulled shut, you watched it until, hours after midnight, you nodded off.

He was gone when you woke up, and you could only hope he’d be mature enough to mind his distance.

Satoru’s face was buried between your thighs when you heard his phone ring, his hands curled around your thighs and your body perched on the edge of one of his rarely used marble counters. You would’ve missed it entirely if you’d been a little closer to the edge, if he’d been just a little nosier as he moaned and grunted into your cunt, but you weren’t, and he wasn’t, and the sound of that melodic dial-tone cut through the haze like a knife through fog (relatively ineffective, but still violent enough to draw attention). You straightened as much as you could, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging, gently. “Satoru, I think—”

“It’s not important,” he muttered against your thigh, drawing back just far enough to be audible. “’s probably just the kids. They said they were coming over, but—” He flashed you a smile, bright eyes catching the light. “They can wait ‘till we’re done. I can’t just leave my pretty girl unsatisfied.”

Immediately, the haze stiffened and shattered into a panic-inducing, heart-racing clarity. You straightened, cursed under your breath, but Satoru tongue was already lapping over your soaked slit, the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as he all-but worshipped your pussy. This time, you didn’t tug, but pulled – doing what little you could to pry him off of you, but all you earned was a throaty whine, his fingertips dug that much deeper into the plush of your ass. His tongue bullied its way past your clenching entrance, curling and thrusting, and it took everything you had not to snap your thighs shut around his head, not to give him what he wanted. “Satoru,” you spat, using the same tone you’d put on for a misbehaving student. “S-stop.”

It was more of an instinct than a decision, more of a reflex than a choice, but either way, it didn’t seem to make a difference. With his eyes blearily focused on your expression, his mouth latched onto your pussy like it was the last thing he’d ever taste, he fucked you open with his tongue until your toes were curling, your legs twitching, your vision burning pure white in a way that made you wish you could give up on sight altogether. He nursed you through your climax until the last of your energy was spent before pushing himself to his feet and slamming his mouth into yours – his teeth cutting into your lips and your taste heavy on his tongue. By the time he pulled away, you were panting and he was wearing that awful, careless grin. You never thought you’d miss Suguru’s calculated smile, and yet.

And yet.

You didn’t have time to be angry. The kids came first – a thought that, if you’d given yourself a chance to linger on it, would’ve been more of a cause for concern. “Go clean yourself up, I’ll take care of the kitchen. Call them back as soon as you’re finished.”

“I love it when you get bossy,” he said, with a dreamy sigh. “It’s hot in a, like, ‘put me over your knee and spank me’ way, y’know?”

Your only response was a quick shake of your head, a repulsed curl of your lips. Satoru only laughed, pecking your cheek and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “They’ll love you. Megumi likes to act shy, but he can’t shut up about you. Tsumiki’ll just be ecstatic to have a baby sister,” he mumbled into your throat. “You wouldn’t break their hearts, would you?”

It might’ve hurt less, if there hadn’t already been two little girls somewhere in Japan who knew that you absolutely would.

You called Suguru from the curb in front of your flat, your head in your hands and tears streaming openly down your cheeks. He let it ring once, twice, before answering. You could practically hear the smile in his voice, practically feel the smugness in his tone. “I thought we weren’t talking, dear?”

You swallowed back another ragged sob. “It’s back.”

He was there within the hour – alone, this time, no girls and no driver. You stayed where you were as he let himself into your flat, returning only a few minutes later with a thoughtful hum and a thin frown playing on his lips. “It’s rare, but it does happen,” he started, as he sat down next to you. He was dressed in street clothes, rather than his monk’s garb. Somehow, that only made it more difficult to look at him. “Particularly restless spirits can lie dormant before reappearing stronger and more attached to their living host. A standard exorcism might no longer be enough to banish it.”

You felt something heavy and pointed drop into the pit of your stomach. Calling it 'stronger' was an understatement – you couldn’t believe something so massive, something so awful had ever been attached to you. When you let your mind wander, you could still see its dripping, pitch-black arms writhing over the walls and ceiling of your bedroom, still feel its countless eyes burning into you – a hundred, no, a thousand times worse than it’d been when Suguru had first sent it away. You buckled at the waist, burying your face in your knees, and Suguru rested a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles into your shoulder. You were thankful for the comfort, even if it would’ve taken you another few weeks to completely forget the feeling of his hand around your wrist. “Can you…” You cringed, shrunk into yourself. “Can you help?”

“Oh, absolutely.” If he’d been just a little more cocky, he would’ve been purring. “But I’m afraid it’ll cost you more than a favor, this time.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“I know.” His hand went still, settling on your shoulder. “But I need you to give me something, this time.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Anything,” you repeated, with all the desperation of a sinner laid bare before the altar. “Please, Suguru. Anything.”

“I need an heir.”

You could practically feel your heart split open and shatter inside of you. “…an heir?”

“For the sake of my congregation,” he said, like that explained anything. “We’ll have to get married first, of course. You’ll be taken care of until the child’s born, and then, you’ll be free to go.” His hand fell to your own, squeezing gently. “Or to stay with us, if that’s what you prefer.”

Any other time, the idea alone would’ve been enough to make you sick. Any other day, you would’ve told him that he could have anything, anything but that.

But, in the moment, all you could seem to think about was your flat and the monster inside of it. You felt yourself nod and, before you could take it back, heard Suguru laugh, felt his lips against your temple. “You’re making the right choice,” he muttered, the words nearly lost against your skin. “I love you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it back.

Tsumiki and Megumi were asleep in the guest room turned makeshift nursery. Megumi had been slow to warm, quick to hear Satoru introduce you as his ‘one and only’ and assume the worst (which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly wrong), but Tsumiki hadn’t been so stand-offish, and ultimately, whatever concerns an eight year old could have for your safety crumbled under his sister’s desire to fawn over your newborn. You were glad. You didn’t want him to worry about you. That was a mistake you’d made with Nanako and Mimiko. You’d let Suguru give them a reason to care if you left, and then, you’d left.

Your gaze drifted to Himari. She’d always loved attention (a trait you could only assume she’d inherited from her father), and she’d spent most of the afternoon and the entire evening basking in Tsumiki and Megumi’s adoration. Currently, she was sitting in your lap, giggling and clapping her hands together as you idly bounced her on your knee. The sight alone was enough to make your heart soar – any thoughts of Satoru and his wards fading into the background as you leaned forward and peppered her tiny face with kisses. It was a miracle that you loved her at all, let alone as much as you did. Pregnancy hadn’t been kind to you, and it wasn’t until the moment she was born that you could stand to think of yourself as a mother of a child, rather than just the incubator to a cultist’s pipedream. You’d never wanted children, but now that you had one, you couldn’t imagine letting anything in the world take her away from you.

Maybe, if he’d been a little kinder to her, if he hadn’t already had two daughters to spoil and adore, you might’ve been able to justify loving Himari less than you did, might’ve been able to leave her in his care when you pried a window open and fled in the middle of the night. He’d never been cruel to her, but no part of you believed that he wouldn’t have been if she’d failed to do what she’d been made for – if your love for her hadn’t been enough to keep you by his side. Even if you hadn’t loved her at all, you still would’ve taken her with you. No child deserved to be left in the care of a monster like Suguru.

You choose, deliberately, to only think about Himari, to tell yourself that you only ever had to think about Himari. You couldn’t afford to break your own heart a second time.

Choosing not to think about Megumi and Tsumiki proved more difficult.

It was a courthouse wedding, the ceremony little more than a few signatures and a hesitant ‘congratulations’ from the officiant. Suguru’s assistant – a blonde woman who looked at you with equal parts sympathy and disgust – acted as the witness. Suguru explained that, after your first child was born, there would be a more elaborate ceremony, something with rings and dresses and flowers that the girls could participate in. You were too dissociated to point out that there wasn’t supposed to be anything after the child was born, let alone something that would leave you that much more bound to him.

You expected him to take you back to your flat, or the villa on the outskirts of the city you’d visited a handful of times when he couldn’t meet you at his temple, but instead, you found yourself standing in front of one of the tallest, brightest hotels you’d ever seen. “It is a special occasion,” he said, as you stared blankly at the entrance. “I wouldn’t be a good husband if I didn’t spoil my wife now and then, right?”

“Please,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say, my love.” His smile was giddier than you’d ever seen it, amusement heavy in his voice. “Let me give you a hand.”

The interior was no less agonizing than the exterior. You could feel a hundred pairs of eyes burning into you as you hung off Surugu’s arm, your own legs too weak to be trusted to support you. Rather than relief, dread coiled in the pit of your stomach as he led you to your room – a suite on the highest floor. You considered, briefly, trying to tell him that you were afraid of heights, but decided against it. Even in your own head, it sounded too childish to be believable, and you couldn’t imagine dragging this out for a second longer than it absolutely had to be.

You stepped into the room and were immediately reminded that Suguru had been the one to make the arrangements. A bottle of wine sat in a bucket of ice on a velvet-cushioned ottoman. Bouquets of roses and their disembodied petals had been carefully spread across every possible surface – painting the room with misshapen splotches of bright red. A colorless atrocity of white silk and lace had been laid across the king-sized bed. You got close enough to recognize it for what it was (bridal lingerie, veil and all) before turning away and collapsing onto the foot of the bed, your vision blurry and your heart racing.

You felt your mouth go dry, your throat tighten, but you forced yourself to speak. You wouldn’t have been able to stand the silence. “Am I—” A pause, a distraught glance towards the monstrosity. “Am I supposed to wear that?”

“I might’ve been a little overzealous,” he admitted, stepping in front of you. Slowly, he lowered himself onto one knee, taking your hands in his. “I’ll be gentle, if that’s what you’re worried about. The only thing I want you to feel is pleasure.” He brought the underside of your wrist to his lips. “I love you.”

You couldn’t be sure what it was. How sincere he sounded, maybe, or how young he looked kneeling in front of you, away from his temple and out of his costume. He kissed the back of your hand, and a ragged sob tore past your lips, all the tears you hadn’t been able to shed during the ceremony suddenly beading in the corners of your eyes. As you tried to keep them at bay with your free hand, Suguru’s smile wavered, and for the first time that you’d seen, fell away completely.

He posed the question softly, carefully. You wished he would’ve been just a little more eager to break you. At least, then, you could’ve hated him for it. “…you really don’t want to do this, do you?”

There was no point trying to lie. You shook your head and watched as Suguru deflated. His eyes had always been dark, but in that moment, you could’ve sworn they’d never seen any light at all.

Before you could brace yourself, his mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise. You tasted blood, felt his tongue rake over yours; whatever gentleness he’d promised to show you little more than a distant fantasy. As his mouth moved against yours, his hand slipped under your dress – two fingers dragging over your slit through your panties before his thumb found your clit through the thin material and he pushed a rough, impulsive pattern into the sensitive bud. You shrunk into yourself, your hands finding their way to his chest before you could stop yourself from trying to push him away, but Suguru didn’t seem to care, to notice. Your panties were torn away entirely, and like a man possessed, he fell back to his knees between your open legs and started to devour you whole.

Your thighs were pulled onto his shoulders, his hands curled around your hips as the flat of his tongue laved over your slit, teasing the entrance of your pussy and flicking over your clit. He alternated between tracing vague figure-eights into your cunt and lapping up the slick starting to drip from your poor, confused pussy – your exhausted body eager to accept any affection Suguru had to show you, if you could even call what he was forcing onto your affection. You tried to reach for him, to pull him away from, but you failed to so much as make contact before he let out a near-violent snarl, calloused fingertips burrowing into vulnerable flesh as he pulled you that much closer, hauling your ass off the bed and leaving you on your back, your arms crossed over your face and your ankles crossed over his back. You sobbed openly, now, but your disparate cries were interrupted by cracked whimpers and half-swallowed mewls – little, pathetic sounds you didn’t have the strength to suppress. Suguru didn’t stop. Honestly, you would’ve been surprised if he could hear you at all over the sound of his own heady panting, of his tongue fucking into your now-soaked cunt.

You almost regretted not taking him back to your flat that first night – when he kissed you like you were the most delicate thing in the world. If you’d given in right away, he might’ve had the self-restraint to hold back. Or, to try to, at least.

One of his hands left your waist, falling low enough for the pad of his thumb to press into your clit. Messily, roughly, he toyed with the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves as his tongue thrust shallowly into your cunt, curling and splitting apart the hot, clenching walls of your pussy. You felt a deep, full-chested moan reverberate up the length of your spine, and that was enough to leave you tumbling over the edge, to leave your thighs clenching around his head as you came undone on his tongue. He ate you out through the aftershocks, but didn’t stop - fucking you open with his tongue until you’d stumbled through another climax, then another, a mix of slick and saliva soon coating his chin and staining the sheets below you. By the time he pulled away, you were crying not from despair, but overstimulation; pangs of pure heat searing your nerves and leaving your cunt aching for reprieve. You were only vaguely aware of the mattress dipping beside you, of his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you for what felt like the hundredth time. As his lips pressed into yours, you decided that, if tonight was the last time you ever had to kiss someone, it wouldn’t be so bad. Not when compared to the alternative.

“I love you,” he mumbled, and then again as he pulled away, “I love you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your voice felt like something you were no longer entitled to use; a vague concept that’d been placed at an inconceivable distance by some cruel deity. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Suguru bare his teeth in frustration. Your dress wasn’t so much removed as it was torn away from you, and you couldn’t help but wither without it. Modesty could only count so much when you could still see your arousal coating his lips, but still, it hurt.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he pulled you into the center of the bed and haphazardly dragged his shirt over his head. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You’d seen his bare arms plenty of times, watched him lift Nanako and Mimiko clean off the ground without so much as a trace of strain, and yet, something inside of you still curled up and died as your eyes raked over his sculpted chest, the corded muscle that seemed to cover every inch of him. More out of shock than anything, you moved to sit up, to put some distance between yourself and a man who looked like he could’ve torn your head off your shoulders on a whim, but he was quick to stop you, to press a palm into your chest and force you back onto the bed. With his other hand, he dragged his pants down just far enough to free his cock and, instantly, whatever desolation you might’ve felt at the sight of his bare chest was multiplied ten-fold.

You didn’t realize you were shaking your head until you moved to speak, your voice shaking and small. “That’s not going to—”

“It will.” That authority – that tone of absolute control – was back in full force. Still, you couldn’t seem to make yourself believe him. “I won’t stop until it does.”

Your heart fell into your stomach as he dragged his swollen, leaking tip over your pussy – the flushed head catching on your abused clit and drawing an airy whimper past your lips. He was, by far, the biggest man you’d ever seen, let alone slept with. As if that wasn’t enough, he was already harder than you knew someone could be – thick, pearly beads dripping from his tip and down his shaft, his more prominent veins almost pulsing as he aligned with your entrance. Even his balls were fucking huge.

Fit for a breeder, something vicious and awful whispered into the back of your mind. You tried to ignore it, but you couldn’t disagree.

Your eyes darted to his expression and met his, already blearily focused on you. You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said was stolen away from you as his hips bucked forward and he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

You’d been right, when you’d tried to stop him.

He was going to kill you.

Already, he was too much. A fresh wave of tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his cock threatened to tear you apart. Suguru let out a raspy groan, his head falling forward and he drew back, pulling out of you until only his head remained in your pussy only to snap his hip and bury himself that much deeper, only to stretch you that much further. “See?” One his hands fell to your lower stomach, the heel of his palm pressing into the soft flesh like he could feel the outline of his cock. He might’ve been able to. You were too scared to check. “You’re a perfect fit.”

There was another grunt, another breathy groan as he fell into an unsteady pace – every thrust brutal and back-breaking. His hands found their way to the headboard, curling around its upper edge as he fucked into you. He didn’t so much find the right spot as find a way to hit every spot constantly, his cock filling your pussy to the brim, leaving you desperately trying to clench down around him to no avail. A high-pitched whine – fractured and pathetic – tore past your lips, and Suguru let out an airy chuckle. “Not gonna be able to get enough of this.” His pubic bone scraped against your clit and you threw your head back, your back arching off of the mattress. Your sensitivity was rewarded with another laugh, a hand brought down just to grope idly at your chest. “I can’t let you out of my sight, from now own. I think I’ll lose my mind if I have to go a day without feeling this perfect pussy wrapped around my cock.”

It was hard to think, let alone piece two words together. Still, you managed to spit something out, fighting to speak above the sound of skin against skin, hips against hips. “B-but, you said— the baby—”

“Fuck the baby. This—” He slapped your clit, his touch harsh enough to make you cry out. “—is all mine.”

A hand around your throat, a new brutality to his thrusts. His grip wasn’t tight, he wasn’t choking you, and yet, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think about anything other than his cock and the feeling of your cunt being split open around it. “You’re mine.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he sounded relieved. “And you always will be.”

Meeting Suguru had been a mistake. Asking for his help had been a mistake. Agreeing to this terrible deal had been a mistake.

But, cumming around his cock as that final possessive sentiment trickled past his lips was the biggest mistake you’d ever made or ever would make, again.

Your cunt clamped down around him – a vice around his cock. With your fists balled around satin sheets and your legs wrapped around his waist, your body convulsed underneath his, your pussy doing everything in its limited power to milk him dry. You heard Suguru curse under his breath, his hips pushing flush against yours as something thick and searing flooded into your cunt. What little managed to leak out around the base of his cock was caught with two fingers and forced back in; no drop wasted.

With a heavy exhale, Suguru dipped lower, his lips grazing over your cheek, then the curve of your neck. You shut your eyes, letting yourself deflate. It was over. No matter how you might’ve felt, no matter how much you might’ve wanted to crawl out of your skin, it was ov—

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulled out of you, only to push back in; his rough, punishing pace only made slightly more bearably by the weight of his orgasm.

The next morning, you’d wake up to Suguru’s arm around your waist and a pregnancy test on the bedside table. It’d be too early to tell, but you wouldn’t bother to so much as open the box. Nothing could’ve kept Suguru from trying again, and again, and again in the days to follow.

Come to think of it, you couldn’t be sure if he ever stopped.

“How long is this supposed to last?”

Megumi and Tsumiki were walking a few yards ahead of you, stopping to stare into every other shop window before running ahead, and Himari was currently tucked against Satoru’s chest, occupying herself with a thorough (albeit, mostly oral) investigation of the collar of his shirt. You couldn’t cook and Satoru refused to do much of anything before noon, so the only choice left was to chase after promises of crepe trucks and cafes. Your question earned a hum, a glance toward you, but not much more. As little as you liked about Satoru, you were thankful he had such an even temper. Suguru was never so slow to react.

“Forever, preferably,” he answered, with a slight shrug. “Or until I die, at least – sorcerers have a pretty high mortality rate. I’m the best at what I do, but even the strongest ant gets crushed eventually.” He paused, pressed a quick kiss into the top of Himari’s head. “I’ll make sure to leave a big trust fund, though. You’re gonna be living off your daddy for a long, long time.”

You let your eyes fall to the sidewalk. “You don’t have to pretend you care about her. I know you’re only doing this because of him.”

If he’d denied it immediately, you wouldn’t have believed him. If he’d sworn that Suguru had nothing to do with it, if he’d dropped to his knees in front of you, if he’d told you that he loved you, you wouldn’t have believed him. But, in the end, he only pursed his lips, his head lulling to the side as he considered it. “At first, yeah,” he admitted, tracing patterns into Himari’s back. “I heard that he’d gotten with someone and… I got curious. I guess I was a little jealous.” He paused, his tone abrupt going light and sheepish. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, in retrospect – making the brats go to your school and following you around and all. I just wanted to see what kind of person could make Suguru go soft, but then I saw how you were with the little princess—” He lifted Himari above his head, grinning up at her while she spouted happy gibberish. “—and fell for you, head over heels. All I could think about was gathering you both up in my arms and takin’ you home.”

“You make us sound like stray animals.”

“I mean, you kind of are, right?” You jutted your elbow into his side, and he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Okay, okay, you’re runaways. I didn’t know you were so pedantic, (Y/n).”

He slotted Himari against his hip, his attention momentarily falling away from her as he shot a quick, teasing smile in your direction. “I like you.” His voice was soft, dull – like he was saying something you didn’t already know. Like he was giving something away. “And I want you to stick around.”

“I’m sure Suguru would’ve said the same thing.”

“I’m not like Suguru.” He found your hand, his fingers soon intertwined with yours. “I wouldn’t let you go so easily.”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. Ahead of you, Tsumiki turned on her heel and waved excitedly. She’d picked a café (presumably with minimal input from Megumi); a picturesque little spot with a sun-speckled patio and overgrown garden boxes. Satoru’s hand tightened around yours, tugging you forward, and just this time, you didn’t bother trying to pull away.

The man on his knees in front of you was older – his hair receding and dotted with grey. A salaryman, you guessed, judging by his wrinkled suit, the ink stains on his sleeves. You couldn’t see his expression, not with his forehead pressed against the floor of Suguru’s sanctuary, but you could hear the pain in his voice as he pled for Suguru’s help, see the slight tremble in his shoulders. You didn’t have to assume the cause of his distress.

You couldn’t be sure when you started to see the spirits – or, the curses, you mean. It must’ve been around the end of the first trimester; your little glimpses at crooked monsters and mangled beasts solidifying into full, unrelenting exposure. Suguru suggested (after he’d finished celebrating what he would, later on, refer to as the best day of his life) that it might be a symptom of the pregnancy, that carrying a sorcerer’s child may’ve triggered some pocket of laden cursed energy buried inside of you, but you couldn’t help but think of it as some kind of cosmic punishment, even if you couldn’t begin to guess what you were being punished for.

It had to be a punishment, though. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be watching a small swarm of winged, imp-like creatures bite and scratch at the cowering salaryman, each swipe of their claws and nip of their pointed teeth enough to leave ragged, bloody stripes in his arms, his back. You felt bile rise into the back of your throat, but forced yourself not to shut your eyes, to keep your expression one of unbothered neutrality. Suguru would help him, just like he helped you.

As if by way of encouragement, you let your nails scrape over his scalp. After you started showing, the only job Suguru deemed you capable of was that of his new headrest. He took care of everything else – petitioning for maternity leave, moving you out of your flat and into the villa he shared with his girls, rewriting every little aspect of your life to better the role you’d inhabit for the next nine months: his pregnant wife. Currently, he was on his side, on leg bent at the knee and his head propped on your thighs, your fingers threaded through his hair. You’d cringed at the idea, at first, but Suguru insisted that it wouldn’t be an issue. The perks of leading your own cult, you guessed. No one could challenge his authority when he was the only authority they could possibly look to.

After a moment longer than you would’ve liked, Suguru cut off the salaryman’s incoherent rambling with a slight hum. Immediately, the salaryman fell silent, and Suguru let his head lull to the side, leaning into your palm. “Manami,” he started, addressing his assistant. She’d been called in shortly after the salaryman made his entrance. “How long has it been since our honored sponsor’s last donation?”

She glanced toward her tablet. “It’ll be five months this week.”

The salaryman scrambled to apologize. “I—I’m sorry, my store went out of business, and I—”

The corner of Suguru’s lips quirked downward. The entirety of the swarm descended onto the salaryman before you could so much as flinch away.

To say they tore him apart would be an understatement. One second, he was there, bowing in front of you, and the next, little more scraps of fabric and disembodied viscera decorated the floor of the sanctuary. Suguru snapped his fingers and, in an instant, the creatures vanished – leaving behind only gore and the thick stench of copper hanging in the stagnant air. Your hand stilled in Suguru’s hair. You might’ve passed out, if you’d been able to process what you’d just watched.

Suguru took notice of your distress quickly. That, or he just wanted to bask in his kill more privately. “If I could be alone with my wife for a moment, Manami.”

Her eyes flickered to you, lingering for a moment before she bowed her head. “Of course, Geto-sama. I’ll fetch someone to clean up this mess.”

Once she was gone, Suguru rolled onto his back, letting his eyes fall shut. “These fucking monkeys,” he sighed, with a shake of his head. “I swear, they’ll be the death of me. They can’t even seem to die without causing more trouble than they’re worth.”

“You can control them?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, dear.”

“The spirits.” And then again, with more urgency, “You can control them?”

His exasperation was swiftly replaced with self-satisfaction so potent, you could nearly taste it. “Would you expect anything less from me? Only a handful are strong enough to be helpful, but even pests can be put to good use.”

You felt like an idiot for asking. You felt like an idiot for having to ask, but you just couldn’t seem to stop yourself. “My spirit. The one I came to you for.” It felt like your tongue was coated in salt and ask. “Was he one of the stronger spirits?”

A beat lapsed in silence, then another.

Finally, Suguru let out a long, raspy exhale and brought a hand to your stomach. “I hope it’s a girl,” he muttered, almost absent-mindedly. “I hope she looks just like you.”

You took a single, stilted breath.

When you met your daughter a few months later, impossibly tiny and infinitely lovable and so agonizingly helpless, it would almost be a relief to see Suguru’s face staring back at you.

“She has your eyes.”

You heard his voice before you saw his face, but you would’ve known Suguru from aura alone. You froze in the doorway of the unlit nursery, searching for him in the darkness, but Suguru didn’t make himself hard to find.

“Not the color, but the shape.” He was standing next to the cradle, a soft smile painted across his lips and your daughter in his arms. She was sleeping, and you were thankful for it. You’d kept Himari away from him as much as you’d been able to in the weeks leading up to your escape, but even their minimal exposure had seemed crushing, at the time. Above all else, you never wanted your daughter to be able to recognize her father’s face. “Oh, but she must have my temperament. I’ve heard she rarely cries, even with nuisances like Satoru around.”

You’d left your phone in the living room. Satoru wasn’t home and he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning, but maybe, if you screamed, someone would hear you. Maybe, you’d be able to run while Suguru tore them apart, limb by limb.

In the end, it was all you could do to make yourself speak – your voice thin and prone to catching in your throat. “Get out of my apartment.”

“But this isn’t your apartment, is it?” With a quiet, hushing sound, he lowered Himari back into her cradle and turned to face you. “Honestly, if I’d known you were just going to run into another man’s arms, I would’ve been more careful with you. I wonder if you’ll feel more loyal to your husband with a chain around your neck.”

“You manipulated me. You made me have a ba—”

“I loved you.” He cut you off with all the delicacy of a rusty knife sawing through flesh. “I do love you, even if I’m starting to question how much of it you deserve.”

He stepped forward. You wanted to turn away from him, to run, but your body was uncooperative, too rigid to do anything more than shake as he came to stand in front of you. “Can you say it back to me? Just this once.” He brought a hand to your cheek. “I’ll forgive you for everything, if you do.”

You tried to. Not for him, but for your daughter – made expendable by her failure to keep you bound to Suguru. You tried to, but all that slipped past your parted lips was a wordless cry, torn and anguished and far from what he’d asked for.

“No?” He feigned disappointment, letting out an airy sigh. “I guess that’s to be expected.”

He took a deep breath, then rested his head against the dip of your shoulder. His hand fell to your stomach as he spoke into your skin.

“Maybe, after we have our second, you’ll change your mind.”

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time-woods · 1 year ago

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i NEED your cosmic owl BIBLICALLY.

no trick or treats. just treats. maybe i can get him as a treat if im lucky wink wink

here he is, special 4 you anon

#asks #the cosmic owl #adventure time

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objectivelyimpermanent · 6 months ago

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73 yards theory: The woman didn't say anything in particular to make everyone run away from Ruby. Instead, interacting with her broke the perception filter, which was the Fourth Wall.

This season has multiple moments of breaking the Fourth Wall already. For example, the wall-breaking aspects of The Devil's Chord, like the glances and winks into the camera, the Doctor's "non-diegetic" music comment, and the NuWho music themes that Ruby started to sing when Maestro split open her soul. Additionally, 73 Yards had no title sequence, and other aspects of this episode could be hints at wall-breaking. The knowledge Ruby retained of visiting Wales a third time at the end of the time loop (rather than cross-temporal memory) could be non-diegetic knowledge; when everyone turns their heads back towards Ruby after interacting with the woman, the shots are angled so that they look directly into the camera—this could imply that rather than looking at Ruby, they're looking at the audience, and therefore becoming aware that they are not real. Pushing it further, Ruby is the camera (or more metaphorically, the perspective character). And finally, when Ruby fulfils the timeline and dies, the shot at the end of the episode becomes from the perspective of Ruby as the woman, and so interacting with the woman could be likened also to interacting with a camera, thus breaking the Fourth Wall. This idea of the woman as camera is supported by the insinuation in the same section that the woman follows Ruby as a kind of "life flashing before one's eyes" event at the end of Ruby's life—she is an Observer, an objective observer of her own life, existing outside of the narrative.

Ruby mentioned to Kate that there were some things that she just knew about the woman, like that she/Ruby would die if she attempted to separate them by boarding a boat. This was linked to the idea of the woman as being/having a perception filter, like the TARDIS, which made her perpetually indistinct. Breaking the perception filter fills someone with the knowledge that they are not real. The people constantly say "Ask her" because as one of the protagonists, the world actually revolves around Ruby. I imagine one would feel a lot of resentment at having one's doubts at one's cosmic significance confirmed, and then being able to put a face to someone to whom some of the blame for your cosmically insignificant existence could be assigned. Of course, Ruby initially believes that "Ask her" refers to the woman, but the woman is Ruby. So in either case, the "her" refers to Ruby; and the ambiguity is deliberate, both because of the reveal that Ruby is the woman and because the statement is so accusatory that it could mean "Ask the woman" (and therefore break the Fourth Wall yourself) or "Ask Ruby" (who is the protagonist and somewhat to blame for everyone else being side characters or background characters).

#doctor who #doctor who spoilers #fifteenth doctor #73 yards

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cosmic-seer · 10 months ago

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:))

(after reading chapter 9 of Sweet & Sour Dipplins)

what (/j /aff /lh /in anguish /huh /AHHHHHHH /crying /sobbing /why are you doing this to us /don't stop frfr /OUGH THE THEMES /sobbing /beach episode now /the tonal shift from Kieran to Juliana w drayton being iconic ig /speechless /where's the fanart inspo /fanart just autocorrected to canary and idk what to think)

#the fanart is coming don’t you worry #I’m just going even more insane about it than last time #I proooooomise #maybe I’ll post a WIP or two #wink wink #dipplinduo reblog #cosmic reblogs

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eqt-95 · 6 months ago

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💙 for supercorp , pretty please!

oh brilliant! yes of course!! i was hoping for this one so i'd finally be motivated to write the scene that was inspired by this post. i have literally had it saved in my tumblr drafts since february. and yes i just scrolled through half of my 784 drafts to find it.

- - - - - -

“Actually no, we're not ‘dating’. We're bound together for infinity. Like the stars. So, fuck you, actually-”

Alex clicked the remote, freezing the screen to perfectly capture a very outspoken, very drunk Lena Luthor doing an uncanny impression of Taylor Armstrong in front of a throng of paparazzi.

“Can we watch it again?”

“No,” Alex answered tersely, setting the remote next to three overflowing folders, a coffee mug that needed to be filled with something a little stronger, and a cellphone she had to silence after the hundredth social media notification sent it rattling off the table.

Nia slouched in her chair with a ‘hmph’ and muttered something that sounded like garbled nothing to normal ears but very much like ‘never any fun,’ to Kryptonian ears.

“Right,” Alex continued, her attention directed across the table. She’d spent the majority of the recording with her face downturn and fingers pinching the bridge of her nose in what could only be described as ‘resignation’ mixed with the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ strategy she had been trying with Esme.. “Care to explain what compelled you to proclaim you... infinite, cosmic link with Supergirl?”

“Not really, no,” a much more subdued, much less drunk Lena answered.

“Seems pretty self-explanatory,” Nia chimed in, spinning in the chair next to Alex. “Luthor can’t hold her liquor.” She bounced a clicky pen on the table-surface to accentuate the point. Alex gritted her teeth.

“I most certainly can-”

“Channel 7 says otherwise,” Nia grinned. The clicky pen was pointed accusingly.

“That,” J’onn began, and then pen clicked in offense, “is the least of our concerns-”

“Exactly,” Alex interrupted while blindly swiping the pen from Nia's hand and slamming it onto the table. “Do you have any idea how many conspiracy theories have started because of this? This has gone national-”

“International, actually,” Brainy added. “Canada and Australia have both picked it up.”

“Which means it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the world is needling around about- about…” Alex’s face plunged closer to a shade of raspberry.

“About what, Alex?” Lena asked. She leaned forward, arms crossed with her super sexy calm, cool, and ceo-collected face. It was almost working too, except for the mischievous glint and flicker of her eyebrow that revealed she was not taking this remotely serious enough for the eldest Danvers sister. “About my throuple with Kara Danvers and Supergirl?”

Alex’s face found her hands. Nia sputtered laughter from behind her own. J’onn stared longingly toward the closed door. Brainy scowled in confusion.

“It cannot be a throuple if two members are the same person,” Brainy said, glancing quickly toward Nia who nodded in confirmation.

“CNN doesn't know that. But fine, call it infidelity, stepping out on-” Lena offered lazily.

“Still not the point. You’ve jeopardized Kara’s secret identity,” Alex interrupted crossly. “And now you've put her in danger of-”

“I thought it was sort of sweet.”

Five pairs of eyes turned toward Kara who, until now, had remained silently observed. She sat at the head of the table wearing her suit and a recent bout of puppy love. Two pairs of eyes were gobsmacked, the third was failing to hide the glee over the entire exchange, and the fourth included a quick wink that made Kara’s cheeks flush even redder and bat her figurative tail even harder.

“Sweet. Right, well,” Alex began again, “‘Sweet’ doesn’t exactly handle the problem, does it?”

“It’ll blow over; these things always do,” Lena added. “We can have Andrea run a boring fluff piece about my night on the town being a slew of misguided comments. Say I said the earth was flat and that I challenged the Second Law of Motion or something. Make it dry. Everyone will chalk it up to part of that.”

“Fine.”

“And we can put this whole thing to-”

“Don't you dare-” Alex warned.

“-bed.”

Alex sighed, J’onn climbed to his feet like a tired high school teacher, Nia bounced giddily in her chair, and Lena was already glancing over at Kara and giving her a look that suggested they were not going to make it through the day without a trip to the broom closet.

Kara's cheeks flushed even redder if that were remotely possible.

•••••••

And so a fluff piece was written, the tabloids took a few lazy swipes at another Luthor edging toward instability, and then the story deflated entirely into obsolescence. The news cycle moved on, Alex's blood pressure returned to normal, and Kara was permanently living on cloud nine.

Everything was fine.

Everything was great.

Everything was going swimmingly.

Until the second video was discovered.

From the same night.

Nia brought popcorn. J’onn brought a heavy sigh. Alex brought a decade of instantaneous aging.

“Care to explain?” Nia asked with her best angry-Alex impression.

Meanwhile Alex was struggling to unclench her jaw.

“Deep fake?” Lena offered lamely.

“Deep fake,” Alex parroted. “You think someone somewhere invested the time to deep fake Lena Luthor and Supergirl making out? For what? Fun? Kicks? Laughs?”

“They already spend hours writing steamy fanfiction,” Lena shrugged.

“They what-?” Alex choked.

“Hot, steamy, inspired sex, really-”

“No-”

“Kara, darling, do you remember the one with my desk and the full-length windows?”

Kara flushed but nodded. Nia squealed with delight. Alex had had it.

“Enough-”

“Or the one where we lived in an alternate universe and you were a cowboy and was your-”

“Stop. Stop it.”

Lena leaned back into her chair, a smile of victory spreading across her face.

“I’m just saying, stands to reason someone might show us in the throws of deep, passionate-”

“I don't want to know. I don't. Want. To know,” Alex interrupted, hands cupped around her ears.

“Cosplay?”

Again five pairs of eyes turned to Kara.

“Could've been cosplay.”

“I can't believe… J’onn can you… handle… this,” Alex waved between the two.

“Should we watch it again?” Nia suggested. “Just to check Kara's theory.”

And without preamble, she clicked play again. It was far fuzzier, far more amateur, and far less deniable than the first.

“Charlie, Charlie, baby look here,” the phone holder shouted over a group of laughing, tipsy NCU students. “Do the impression again, please? I want it for-”

“Yo, yo, check it out.”

“Is that-?”

The camera pivoted from the ginger-haired Charlie to a dark alley between

“Oh damn, is that Supergirl?”

“And… Lena Luthor?”

“I knew it. I told you!”

The stage whispers were doing far more for Alex’s discomfort than the shaky camera zooming 2x onto what was very clearly Supergirl pressing Lena Luthor into a wall and doing a very good job of ripping Lena’s $1,200 blouse open.

“Ooph, Mrs. Fischer is not going to be happy about that,” Nia commented.

A glitter of buttons bounced off the sidewalk, and Supergirl’s mouth was moving hungrily and decidedly across the exposed skin.

“We’ve seen enough,” Alex chimed in and reached, some might say ‘desperately’, for the remote in Nia’s hands. “Once already scarred me for life-”

“But we won’t know until we see drunk, cosplay-Lena’s face. It’s for science, Alex,” Nia answered, clutching the remote like the lifeline to a sinking ship and climbing onto and over the conference table just as ‘cosplay’-Lena pulled ‘cosplay’-Supergirl’s mouth back to her.

“Bullshit,” Alex hissed, making quick work of scattering across the same table.

Meanwhile ‘cosplay’-Supergirl’s hands were no longer visible and the gang of NCU students were actively chanting them on. “Nia Nal, if you do not turn that off right now-”

The chase continued under the table, over three chairs, and around a trash bin Nia knocked over in a valiant attempt to slow her assailant. And while Nia and Alex made a mess of the conference room, ‘cosplay’-Supergirl was making an absolute mess of ‘cosplay’-Lena’s bun-

“Never!” Nia huffed and side-spun before making a poor calculation and tripping over an empty chair. Alex saw her window and lunged, tackling Nia, gripping the remote free and slamming pause just as ‘cosplay’-Lena found the zipper to ‘cosplay’-Supergirl’s suit.

“Do you have any idea the-” Alex’s vitriol stopped in its tracks. Why? Because they were totally and completely alone. No Brainy or J’onn and worse, no Lena or Kara. “What… where’d they go?”

“Probably the broom closet,” Nia mused.

- - - -

ask game

#this ending could've definitely been polished #but the queue is stacking up!#i've definitely landed way more asks than i was expecting!!#exciting times though #thanks for the ask!#fabulousglitch #ask game #qs with quinn

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helenanell · 6 days ago

Text

Shattering Still || Joel Miller

'I had been so ready to die, but Joel Miller stopped me.'

Joel Miller x OFC - (Although can be reader as there's no name or physical description, just an age: 40)

WC: 11K

Warnings: ANGST! Smut MDNI. Interrupted suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, grief, loss of a child. (I'm so serious this is SAD) Joel is angry but well-meaning. Not quite enemies to lovers, but they have no idea what to make of each other.

AN: I never thought I'd write for Joel, but I've been obsessed with and inspired by @almostfoxglove - specifically 'Lock the Gate' which is amazing!

Read on AO3

:✮:·

Blood bloomed upon the snow.

One after the other, crimson drops fell to the ground. And fell and fell. The gash on my forehead had scabbed over the day before, but the tumble I'd taken down that slope an hour or so ago had ripped it right off. I could have stopped, wiped the blood from the side of my face and fashioned some kind of bandage. But there’d be no point.

My path stopped here.

The small clearing in the woods I’d stumbled into was beautiful in its barrenness. As good a place as any, I supposed.

My bruised and battered body screamed when I pressed my back against the nearest tree and dropped inelegantly to the earth. The snow cushioned the impact, but it began to seep into my jeans; dozens of frost-tipped pins pricking at my skin.

I sat there for a moment, transfixed by the indifferent incandescence of winter: so lethal yet so enrapturing. The snow that covered everything from the ground to the tree branches was a smothering weight and yet it glinted in the sun like diamond dust.

Blood from my head wound rolled down and got caught in my eyelashes. I blinked to get rid of it, but it only served to bathe that eye with a tinge of crimson. With an irritated huff I pulled off my glove and used it to wipe at my face. It was messy and sure to be smearing it about my skin, but in minutes that wouldn’t matter. I pulled the glove away and looked at it: stained red, some of it transferred onto my palm, but my eyes snagged on the dried, darkened blood beneath my fingernails that wasn’t mine.

It’s easy to tell yourself that killing in the interest of self-preservation is permissible. Or, at least, that it should not burden you: the snuffing out of a life. I’d always liked the idea of that: snuffing out. To extinguish a flame. It felt fitting when applied to people, seeing as we're all just stardust; detritus from a dead thing that burned in the sky.

We wink out just like stars. What human beings had used to navigate upon land and sea for millenia, were just dead things. We found our way thanks to bodies burning in the darkness.

I’d left behind enough bodies to form whole new constellations. There wasn’t one of them that I regretted.

I’d had someone to protect. Someone worth saving. And I had. Over and over again I had saved that little boy. But none of that had accumulated into some lasting cosmic protection, or formed armour over his skin. None of it had stopped him from dying.

I’d saved him, until I hadn’t. Until I’d watched him die. Let him die.

He’d always been small for his age, but his hands had felt smaller still in my own bloodstained ones, his unblemished skin swallowed up by the crimson smeared on me.

My nephew had been born into grief. He’d been placed, red-faced and squalling, into my arms instead of my sister’s. In the moment, I hadn’t been able to look at him, a led-weight in my arms, screaming for breath as my sister drifted away.

Too much blood.

I’d known it, but I'd still stood there, my sister’s baby in my arms as I screamed at someone- everyone to save her. I’d screamed at the fucking world.

Someone must have taken him from my arms then. I don’t remember it happening, only that my memories then skip like a scratched record to me kneeling at my sister’s side and squeezing her hand. She’d been so exhausted that her head hadn't so much as turned to me, rather it had lolled to the side. Her gaze had been distant and untethered as though she couldn’t see exactly where I was, only knew I was there because of her hand in mine.

“You have to protect him.” She’d begged, her voice hoarse, tears trailing down her face. “He’s yours- your family. Promise me.”

I’m no longer sure if I said it back before her eyes drifted closed. I used to be ardent in the belief that I had, but over the years I started to think maybe her eyes had already been shut when I’d finally said it. Maybe I’d still been kneeling by her side, her hand cooling on my own and the sun set behind me when I let out a sob and said: ‘I promise.’

I had named him. Sophie had told me that she wouldn't feel right to give him one without having met him first. She'd wanted it to suit him. So, I'd looked at him and done my best. Fred, after our grandfather, because I hoped he’d be just as kind as him. I hoped that I was capable of raising him to be kind.

I’d raised him to die.

Perhaps it was my punishment to outlive them. To live long enough that I started to forget. Already my sister’s face had started to blur, the tides of time wearing down her features. Like waves against a rock face.

Everything is always crumbling to pieces. Life is a perpetually disintegrating thing.

It was time for me to disintegrate, to let death wash over me like a wave over a sand castle. When it receded, the thousands of pieces of me would be dragged back into the deep, with no evidence left on the shore that I had existed at all.

I could have just laid down in the snow and shut my eyes, let the cold subsume me, purify me in a wash of white. Drift off in a snow drift. It even sounded nice.

Just like falling asleep. Isn’t that how hypothermia was meant to end. Peacefully?

As tempting as it was, I knew that I couldn't do that. I didn’t deserve an end so… quiet . Not when all those I'd loved had died in such pain and so afraid. The people I had known who were the least deserving of suffering.

The least I could do for them was pull the trigger on myself.

With my body now quaking with the cold, assailed by the dampness soaked into my clothes, I pulled the gun out of the waistband of my jeans. I let out a breath, watched it appear and then disappear in the air before me. Like human lives: blink and you’ll miss them.

I pressed the barrel to my temple, the metal so cold it was a biting kiss.

I shut my eyes. My finger fell upon the trigger.

Snap! A branch broke close by.

It’s funny how even when humans are ready to die, our bodies can still react to imminent danger. Fight. Flight. Freeze. I’d always favoured the first.

My eyes flew open, the gun fell from my temple as I swung it out and pointed it at the figure that had emerged through the trees. No- figures . There were two of them.

Two men moved towards me, similar in aspect but with markedly different expressions.

The one that stepped through the trees first, dressed in a thick tan coat had his gloved hands closed around a rifle that was pointed right at me. He had dark, distrusting eyes that were narrowed into a scowl. His hair was snow-dusted and shot-through with grey.

“Put it down.” He snapped, voice forceful but calm. Texan, if I had to guess. He nodded at the gun in my hand as if I couldn’t have put two and two together.

I didn’t obey him, at least not right away. I watched him watching me and thought about letting him put a bullet between my eyes.

It could be my coward’s way out. If I kept the gun in my hand for even a few seconds more, he would fire his. I could see the promise of it in his eyes. He could finish the job for me. But Sophie and Fred deserved more. I couldn’t be a coward for their sake. I had to be the one to end myself, not a stranger.

I uncurled my rapidly freezing fingers and dropped the gun. The impact sent up a small dusting of snow.

The man grunted disapprovingly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Throw it out of reach.”

“I’d rather not.” My voice was hoarse from dehydration and my throat was still shredded from all of the screaming I'd done when Fred…

I was going to need the gun once the two men had left and I really didn’t want to have to get up again. I wasn’t really sure I could.

The man was having none of it. His face tightened with anger.

“Wasn’t a request.” He snarled. “Now do it.”

I couldn't help the scoff that bubbled up. He had just come across me about to shoot myself, the precaution felt unnecessary. Then again, being distrusting had probably allowed him to live long enough to get the grey in his hair.

At last, the other man stepped forward. He was younger, his hair still mostly dark, but there was a kinship in their features. His deep brown eyes looked me over, not unkindly, before settling on his companion.

“Joel.” He said pointedly. I didn’t need to know him to discern what he left unsaid.

It’s not us that she’s a danger to.

Then, his eyes slid over to the object clasped in the other hand. Pressed against my chest was Fred’s teddy bear, it’s fur matted with blood. I’d been carrying it for my entire journey and ice crystals had formed upon it. The teddy was the only thing I’d brought with me besides the gun: I had no need for anything else l where I was going.

Joel’s gaze followed the other man’s and for a moment, he went utterly still. Only for a moment though, because it wasn’t long before his eyes snapped back to my own and he repeated his order:

“Throw the gun out of reach.”

With an exhausted sigh I did as I was told. The moment the thump of the gun landed, the other man moved forward and pushed down the barrel of Joel’s gun so it pointed at the ground.

“Sorry about my brother.” He said, shooting the brooding man a reproachful look before looking to me. His smile was tentative. “I’m Tommy and this is Joel.

I nodded stiffly, not in the mood for greetings. I just wanted them gone. And yet, when I spoke it wasn’t to tell them to fuck off and let me die.

“You’re from Jackson.” I said.

It wasn’t a hard leap, we couldn’t be more than an hour outside of it.

“That a question?” Joel spat.

I didn’t acknowledge the walking stormcloud and instead kept my attention on his brother. It wasn’t that I was deluded enough to think he was in any way kinder, the way he stood told me enough: just as willing to shoot me if I looked at them the wrong way.

“Yes, we are.” Tommy confirmed. His brother’s head whipped around, but he was unbothered by the glare he received.

“We were heading there.” I uttered mournfully.

We . I must have been more delirious than I realised.

Thankfully, neither of the men pressed me on my blunder. I suppose the way they had found me and the blood-stained bear in my hand made the absence at my side clear enough.

“We’re on our way back.” Tommy said. “You could come with us.”

“Tommy!” Joel closed the gap between himself and his brother, grabbing his arm and jostling him.

Honestly, I was also a little startled. It took the exchange of a couple of sentences for him to extend such an offer?

Tommy shrugged off Joel’s grip. “That’s not your decision to make big brother.”

“Tommy, look at her! With all the shit she’s covered in, she could be bit and we wouldn’t see it. You want to drag an infected into Jackson?”

“Not infected.” I sniped back, not really knowing why I bothered.

Something about his contempt stoked the dying fire within me. There was no need to be a bastard about the woman you’d just stopped from blowing her brains out.

Joel’s eyes returned to me, sharpened with a new edge. “If you’re not bit, then why were you–”

His speech stopped abruptly, his mouth clamped shut before the rest of his sentence could tumble out. I could make an educated guess at what it would have been: Why were you about to kill yourself?’

“That’s hardly the only reason for it.” I grumbled, answering his incomplete query. “Now, seeing as you made me get rid of it, I'd appreciate it if you could pass me my gun before you go.”

Whatever wary confusion had possessed Joel to even start to enquire about my motives disappeared and his scowl returned.

“Get it yourself.” He barked. His hand shot out and he grabbed his brother’s arm again, tugging him back. “Tommy, time to go.”

With that Joel turned away, already marching through the trees. I entertained the thought that if he found anything in his path, instead of going around he’d just walk straight through it. He seemed the type: stubborn to a fault. Stubborn to the point of pain.

Tommy, as if repelled from his brother like a magnet, moved in the opposite direction and right towards me. His heavy boots crunched on the snow. As he came to a stop, he slung his rifle over his shoulder.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly trying to find the right words. “Look- whatever you were about to do…I know that ‘aint any of my business.”

“Tommy!” Wherever Joel was, his brother’s body blocked my view, but I could feel the glare passing through his brother and into me like a laser beam.

Tommy ignored him and moved closer, then dropped to a knee in front of me.

“Our lives are all we’ve got a right to anymore, so yours is to do with what you will. But, that’s not a decision to be made lightly and you look like you’ve been through it. How about you come back with us, stay for the night, have a hot meal at least?”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. He had no reason to offer me this, to try and coax me to Jackson at all. At least, no good reason. No one made altruistic offers, not anymore.

Then again, I could guess that this man had taken his fair share of lives. Maybe he’d changed, or was changing and thought that stopping a stranger from dying would do a little to balance his scales.

I could understand that urge. I’d thought Fred could redeem me. Make me nurturing when I’d never had the inclination. Kids will do that to you. Make you want to be better than you had ever considered possible.

I’d tried my best. I really had. But I’d never escaped the feeling of being a poor substitute for my sister; my care and compassion so pitiful compared to what she could give. I’d never had a deep well in that regard.

I suppose I wouldn’t have known until Fred was older if he’d truly felt loved by me. Sure, he’d told me he did, but he was a little boy and I was all he had.

It had been a selfish, self-indulgent fear of mine that he’d grow up, meet other people, perhaps see other families and realise how poorly I measured up; that he’d been deprived by me. How desperately I wanted to return to those anxieties that had felt so crippling at the time. Fear meant he was alive.

Now there was just…nothing. I served no purpose. There was no point to anything at all.

But I also had no fight left to give and I had a feeling that despite what he said, Tommy wasn’t going to let me refuse him so easily. I also doubted that he’d retrieve my gun for me: passing me the weapon that I would use to end it all might feel too much like culpability for a man who seemed to have a conscience.

So, I gave in. I granted a stay of my own execution and nodded.

Tommy smiled warmly as he stood up. “Come on, we got our horses tied up nearby. You can ride with me.” He leant down and offered me a hand, easily hauling me to my feet.

Weak and exhausted, I staggered to the side, but Tommy’s hold stopped me from falling. The wind blew, drying the blood that had slowed to a trickle on the side of my face.

“Woah, easy.” He said, looping one hand through my arm to anchor me to him. “You good?”

“Fine.” My breathlessness betrayed me.

“We gotta worry about anyone coming after you? Your blood’ll be like a trail of breadcrumbs in the snow.” Tommy guided me to turn around and we walked towards the treeline. Joel was waiting there, his gun still gripped tightly as he watched his brother and I advance.

“No one’s following me.” I assured him, fighting against the images that flashed behind my eyes. Bullets fired in my mind and then ricocheted off the inside of my skull.

“You sound very sure.” Joel said flatly as Tommy led me past him, he fell into step behind us. It was like having a dog snapping at my heels.

I bristled at the hostility in his voice, it was a challenge that I usually would never have been able to resist but there was no point in fighting him.

“They’re dead.” I answered bluntly.

I’d killed every last one of them.

Their blood had mingled with Freddie’s on my hands. It had felt like a desecration but it hadn’t stopped me.

Both brother’s made no further comment. When Tommy told his brother to fetch my gun, I was surprised that he complied without verbalising any objection. Although he didn’t give it back to me, just tucked it into the back of his jeans.

We remained silent after that, right up until we reached their horses. I joined Tommy on his, his, his brother striking out in front and brooding on his own mount.

When the wall’s of Jackson came into view I failed to fight back tears. I’d been so close to getting Fred to safety.

So close.

:✮:·

Once I had the two jagged edges of the gash on my forehead pressed together between my fingers, I gritted my teeth and pushed the needle through. The skin was already livid and raw, but a fresh drop of blood beaded there thanks to the pressure I was exerting. As I made the first stitch, I caught the sympathetic wince of the woman behind me in the mirror’s reflection.

“Not good with needles?” I asked, already back to sealing myself shut. It was another pointless endeavour, like glueing a shattered teacup back together while knowing that I was only going to drop it again, but acquiescing to it had seemed to appease Tommy. He’d also assured me that his wife wouldn’t hear of it being left unattended.

That had proved true enough when Maria had arrived at Jackson’s infirmary. Tommy had sent someone to pass along word of the stray he’d brought home.

Maria had looked me over with guarded concern, assuring me that I was welcome, while making it very clear that stepping out of line would be met with swift consequences. I admired her sternness: it was so clearly rooted in the desire to preserve the remarkable place that had been built.

I wasn’t entirely convinced that I hadn’t passed out in the snow back and was just imagining all of it.

Jackson felt like a dream that only my dying mind would have the luxury of conjuring up. I’d walked through the streets with Tommy and seen…normalcy. A sort of mundanity that had become a fanciful thing in my mind.

“Not good at watching someone stitch themself up, I guess.” Maria answered. She shifted so that she was leaning back against the wall, one hand cradling her belly. She couldn't have been far off her due date.

“I’ve never had anyone to do it for me.” I admitted, piercing my skin again.

I’d had to fight them to be able to tend to myself. Maria had insisted they had someone who knew what they were doing, but I couldn’t stand the idea of it: a stranger leaning over me, breathing on me for an extended period of time. Too close. Too prolonged. Just the thought made my gut twist.

It was best that I did it myself.

“It’s hard to accept help, at first. But you’ll adjust.” Maria’s tone was soft yet knowing.

I focused intently on the movements of the needle, forcing down a scoff at her words.

“Trusting people to have good intentions is asking for trouble.”

Maria nodded. “Out there, sure. But there are good people here. Families just trying to make it through.”

My grief was as volatile and shifting as the sea and I found myself biting back a nasty retort about it being pretty damn easy for the people here to make it through, safe behind high walls with their children, while somewhere else another mother lost hers.

The people of Jackson weren’t surviving, they were living . That was a luxury. And while it was a beautiful thing, practically incomprehensible given the state of the world, it shone too brightly for me to stand. I found it blinding. I wanted to throw dirt on it, smear it with filth to cover the shine.

When you’ve lived so long by crawling through the dirt, the sight of cleanliness is disconcerting. Almost uncanny.

As I came to the last stitch, my open wound now a raised edge, puckered and tied together with thread, I let myself meet Maria’s eye through the mirror.

“Look, I do appreciate the welcome, but there’s no need to go to any trouble.”

Maria waved my words away. “We’ve got enough empty houses to go around.”

Houses.

Not a room in an abandoned building where i’d have to barricade the door, or a tent that never felt remotely safe enough to get any sleep in. Or out in the open, beneath the stars.

Wherever Fred and I had found ourselves, I had never slept. I always ended up just watching him, his little chest rising and falling beneath his sleeping bag.

Oblivious to my wandering mind, Maria continued. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we do have a process. The council–democratically elected–would want to talk to you if you decided to stay with us. You got any skills?”

“Define skills.” I said, as I tied off the thread and reached for the scissors that gleamed in the metal tray by my hand.

“Hunting. Shooting. Would be nice to have another person with a green thumb.”

put down the scissors and turned to face Maria. I leant back against the table, crossing my arms over my chest. It had long been my instinct to take a defensive stance.

“I can hunt.” I told her. “I can make traps and snares and I’m good with a gun.” I didn’t know why I was entertaining Maria’s inquiries, but acting as if I was someone intent on surviving seemed like it would lead to less resistance.

The last thing I wanted to do was solicit questions about what had happened to me. To Fred. Questions about why her husband and brother-in-law had found me alone in the woods, clutching a bloody teddy bear and readying to shoot myself. Tommy must have told her.

Before he had excused himself, husband and wife had ducked out into the hallway to talk and while Maria hadn’t treated me like a broken thing once she’d returned, there was something in her eyes that amounted to understanding.

“How good with a gun?” Maria asked, appraising me inquisitively.

“Very good.” I admitted matter-of-factly. “Our dad was a marine. Taught us to shoot long before the world went to shit.”

“Us?” Maria pressed tentatively.

Shit.

A decade after my sister died and I still thought in terms of ‘us’ and ‘we’. Ours.

“My sister.” I offered, hoping my bluntness would crush the topic of conversation before it could grow. Thankfully, it did.

We fell into a brief silence that bordered on comfort before Maria pushed off the wall.

I tensed instinctively at the movement, my hand itching to reach for the gun that Joel hadn’t returned. I’d need to ask Tommy about that.

Maria woman clearly noted my reaction, but carried on as normal.

“So…” She began with a smile. “Have I convinced you to stay? For the night, at least?”

“That’s what your silence was: you convincing me?”

“With some people, words hurt more than they hinder.” Maria said simply. “It has to be up to you. So?”

“Okay.” I said slowly. “One night.”

Maria had started moving towards the door before I'd finished my sentence. “Great! Let’s get you home. I’ll find you some clean clothes too.”

As Maria walked out, beckoning me to follow, I released a long sigh. I didn’t like the sound of that: your home. It had the distinct whiff of someone who wasn’t done trying to convince me, in silence or otherwise.

If only the Miller brother’s had arrived in the clearing just ten seconds later. I’d already be far from there, far from myself and all that I had done. And all that I had failed to do.

:✮:·

Something about the house I was given broke through my numbness to inject a dose of sadness. It was small. Just one floor. But it held vestiges of the life that had been lived so long ago.

Lines were etched into the wooden door frame that led into the kitchen, marking the growth of ‘Katie’ . She’d reached the height of my belly button before any chance of a normal future had been snatched away from her. Maybe she was alive somewhere, now an adult taller than me, but hope was just self-deception. It made reality more bearable.

Then there were the cupboards that were full of mug’s, many of them chipped. One had ‘ World’s Best Mom!’ stamped across it.

Everything was covered in dust that had gathered since the last occupants had fled, only to be kicked up by my footsteps. It felt a bit like disturbing a tomb. Except there were no bodies, just an absence. But that’s what death was: an absence in the existence of those left behind.

Maria had showed me to the house and then promptly left me to my solitude.

I attempted to settle down in the bed, curling up with the patchwork blanket I'd been given, but the softness of it was unpleasant.

I’d gone too long moving from place to place with Fred and when there had been a bed–and there was usually only one–I had let him take it and slept on the floor, or in a chair. Sometimes, I sat with my back against the door all night.

Then there had been all of the camping we had done. It had felt strange calling it that, as if it had been a recreational activity rather than a necessity, but framing it that way had made it seem more like an adventure for my nephew.

All of which was to say, I lasted a pitiful amount of time in the bed before I was gathering up the blanket and the pillow and traipsing into the living room at the front of the house and settling down on the floorboards between the couch and the coffee table.

There were bay windows that looked out onto the street, but there were no curtains or blinds to close for any semblance of privacy. No matter, it meant I could see the stars.

I laid down, bathed in a moonbeam that streamed inside, but made no attempt to shut my eyes. I just stayed there and stared up at the damp stain on the ceiling. Once clouds crossed the moon and the room darkened, the stain became a pool of blood in my eyes, spreading and spreading and spreading.

:✮:·

Tommy had returned my gun to me on the morning of my first day in Jackson. And yet, three sunrises later, I was still alive and kicking. Well, not kicking, but I was breathing.

I hadn’t had a change of heart where the wastefulness of my life was concerned, I just…hadn’t ended it yet. I was just so fucking tired. Part of me had died back in that clearing I think, even though Joel and Tommy had stopped me pulling the trigger.

There were so many more kids in Jackson than I’d thought there’d be. I don’t know why it surprised me, but seeing all the chubby cheeks and gapped tooth smiles was salt in a gaping wound.

I couldn’t help but imagine Fred and his head of blonde curls amongst the little flock. I’d called him duckling for a long time, because when ruffled, his hair had looked like the fluffy down of a little bird.

He’d have been so happy in Jackson. Nervous, at first, because he had never grown up with kids his own age, but he’d have shaken the worry off in no time, buoyed by the prospect of friends.

We’d been so fucking close. So close to a type of happiness I’d thought died with the old world. Part of me hadn’t even believed that a place like Jackson could exist. A community where actual kindness could be found, polished to a shine; a point of pride instead of something people let gather dust in a dark corner of their mind.

It had been a dream. A wish that I'd made for the both of us, one that I’d repeated with every step that we had taken forward.

But it did it exist.

Just being there hurt .

And if there was one thing that was intrinsic to humans no matter what state civilization was in, it was that we’d hurt and be hurt. And pain led us to seeking out ways to numb it. It’s how we’d ended up with alcohol.

The Tipsy Bison was almost too close to the bar’s I had spent my early twenties in. All dark wood and dark walls, sticky booths and shitty lighting.

The back wall behind the bar was an explosion of discordant memorabilia, all fighting to catch your eye first: a shooting trophy, a tiny American flag, a clock with what looked like a submarine on it, a little anchor. Everywhere you looked something new.

With a heady buzz building behind my eyes, I looked up at the mirrors behind the bar, partially obscured by the empty bottles that cluttered up the shelf beneath it. There were fairy lights strung up on the ceiling and in the reflection, my blurred vision made them bleed into one pulsing, glowing mass.

I groaned and dropped my forehead down onto the bar, enjoying how cool the varnished wood felt. My stitched head wound stung at the impact, but I found a perverse thrill in it.

I thought if I stayed utterly still and tried my best to block out the noises of the other patrons, the headache might begin to abate. Then I would move, stumble back to the house I'd been given.

I thought my plan might just work, until someone gracelessly dragged out the empty stool beside me. It scraped against the floorboards and I felt the vibrations in my brain. I groaned as I sluggishly lifted my head to find the culprit.

The scar at Joel’s temple was the first thing my eyes fell upon. It was almost illuminated in the bar’s inconsistent lighting. His posture was rigid, making him seem somehow even more solid, like he weighed himself down to the extent that movement was a chore. A hulking immovable object.

“Quit it.” Joel groused. He didn’t so much as glance at me out of the corner of his eye, his attention reserved for the barman who’d already poured him a whisky.

I sat up a little straighter, narrowing my eyes at him. “What?”

“Quit fuckin’ staring.” He snapped in answer, still not deigning to meet my eye.

“Wasn’t staring.” I spat back.

“What would you call it, then?”

“Observing.”

Oh, and Joel really didn’t like that: the notion that I had been watching him actively. As if taking him in visually, learning even a little about him from it, was a kind of theft, a terrible, offensive transgression. He gripped his glass tighter, making the tips of his fingers turn white. He angled his head in my direction, not quite looking at me, but close enough.

“Nothing to observe.” He muttered resentfully.

It had been over a decade since I'd let myself get so drunk and it brought out an instinct to antagonise that I’d forgotten I possessed. I smiled nastily and leant a little closer to him.

“Are you under the impression that you’re invisible?”

“No.” He shot back. “Sure would be nice though.”

“Oh?”

“This conversation wouldn’t be happening.”

“You started it.”

Joel slammed his glass down into the bartop, some of the dark liquid spilled over onto his hand. “What are you, fuckin’ five years old?”

I didn’t answer. My heavy head became too much to bear so I dropped it back down into my folded arms. The energy the alcohol had given me was already spent.

As I expected, the silence suited Joel just fine and minutes passed without another peep. I started to entertain the thought that he’d never try to engage with me ever again but then…

“Do you not need to eat?”

I looked to look at him but didn’t lift my head up off my arms. “Feeling talkative now?”

Joel had gone back to looking at anywhere but me. He grunted in displeasure at my mockery but carried on. “Been five days, haven’t seen you in the mess hall once.”

Instead of answering him, I forced myself to sit up and called out to the bartender, pointing at my empty glass. But, when he approached, Joel’s hand reached out, enfolded the top of my glass and dragged it out of the man’s reach. And his generous pour.

“About time this one was cut off, Seth.”

I scowled and clumsily reached forward to snatch back the glass, but Joel just swept it up and away from me.

“You were happy to leave me to shoot myself in the woods, but you’ll stop me from drinking?” I seethed. I thought I had whispered, but the few heads that turned in our direction told me otherwise.

Joel tensed so severely I thought the glass might shatter in his grip. But after a second or two, he set down the empty vessel and retrieved his own drink and lifted it to his lips. He kept set his eyes forward and took an obnoxiously loud sip.

“Fine. Fucking asshole.” I mumbled as I slid off and snatched my coat off the back of the stool.

“What was that?” Joel asked sharply.

Emboldened by the alcohol and infuriated by him, I sidled right up beside him and leant onto the bar. My other hand fell on his arm and he actually flinched .

“I said, you’re a fucking asshole.” Before Joel could muster up much of a reaction, I pushed off the bar and sent a consternated Seth a weak smile. “Night.”

I lurched out into the street and had to steady myself against the wall, sucking in icy breaths that scratched their way down my throat like glass shards. Painful, but it helped me come back to myself enough to put one foot in front of the other and head for my house.

Shit.

My house.

It should have been ours: Mine and Fred’s. Our home.

Never just mine.

:✮:·

It turned out that getting blind drunk didn’t just impair your vision, but also created such a fog in your mind that you forgot a lot of things. In my case, what I failed to remember as I staggered up the cracked stone path towards the house, was Maria’s warning that the wooden steps of the porch had rotted.

I was not exactly light of step at the best of times, but in my inebriated state, my footfalls may well have been able to crack concrete. So, when I stomped up onto the porch, my right foot went clean through the top step.

My stomach dropped and bile rose as I lurched forward. I was just barely able to catch myself and avoid breaking my nose against the wooden planks. My palms were abraded against the unforgiving surface, my skin riddled with splinters in an instant. I could feel something digging into my ankle and suspected that if I wasn’t so numbed by the alcohol, that I’d be experiencing at least a little pain.

“Fuck.” I grunted as I dragged myself up, pulling my ankle free of the hole. Once most of my body was on stable ground, I flopped down onto my back.

I shut my eyes and willed the world to stop spinning. The wind blew, drawing my attention to the exposed skin between my pant leg and my boot, upon which I could feel the trickle of blood.

Out in the open air with the stars glittering above, although obscured from my sight, I found myself beginning to feel oddly soothed. It was more of a familiar sleeping arrangement than the bed in the house that I’d rejected.

Which was probably why my eyes drifted shut.

:✮:·

A sharp kick against my leg woke me up.

My eyes fluttered open, only to find a dark mass standing over me. After a few more blinks, the nebulous shape began to shift into something more recognisable. Wide chest and broad shoulders, atop which sat a distinctly displeased face.

I couldn’t actually see his expression all that well, but it wasn’t exactly a hard leap to make once I realised that it was Joel.

Now sleep-addled as well as drunk, I was unwilling to be the first to break the silence. He must have realised this, because he spoke first. It sounded like he was under significant duress:

“Your steps have rotted.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” I slurred.

Joel gave no answer, but dropped down onto a knee beside my prone body, emitting a small grunt when the bone cracked.

“Feeling your age?” I asked, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Shut up.”

I was, quite frankly, far too drunk, exhausted and frozen stiff to find to rouse myself to tell Joel to fuck off. The frigid night air had frozen my reservoir of rage. For now.

Despite that, when I felt cold fingers push up the bottom of my pant leg to expose my sticky blood to the night air, I kicked out at his hand. When the sole of my heavy boot made contact with Joel’s hand, he pulled it back with a hiss. “Go away.” I ground out, focusing on the way the now exposed scratches on my ankle stung.

Boots scuffed against wood as Joel rose to his feet, face contorted with displeasure. Before I could let out the sigh of relief at his anticipated departure, he kicked the side of my leg again.

“Can’t stay out here. Get up.”

“I’ll get up when you're gone.”

“No. You’ll pass out and freeze to death.”

“Just fucking let me, then! I’m nothing to you.” I hurled back at him, wincing at the resultant pain in my head.

Daughter, sister, aunt. Through every stage of my life, I had understood myself and my purpose through those titles. But now…I wasn’t anything to anyone. Just nothing .

The silence was drawn out just long enough, I thought he might have left and I was just so delirious I hadn’t heard his footsteps. But the next thing I knew a hand curled around my arm and I was hauled to my feet.

I wanted to curse him, to spit and claw at him, to turn my pain against someone other than myself and draw blood. Before Fred had died that’s what I would have done. But whatever the husk of who I was had left within it, it wasn’t the quickness to violence.

So, I let Joel drag me like a dog on a leash. He was rough. His fingers dug into my arm and he let me stumble over my own feet. He threw open the front door and stormed in, moving far too quickly for my drunken body to coordinate with. As we crossed over the threshold into the house, I tripped and would have ended up on the ground again if he hadn't pulled me to his side. He smelled of whisky and woodsmoke.

We moved down the hall at a jarring pace. It felt as though I was a piece of obsolete equipment that he was hauling around, and therefore he was uncaring about jostling me to the point that a screw or two came loose.

Thankfully, the little house didn’t give us much ground to cover before he was shoving me into the sitting room. When he came to an abrupt stop, I presumed that he was taking in the sight of my blanket and pillow on the floor, but when his hold on my arm eased up, I followed his gaze to the coffee table.

My gun sat atop the dusty surface and right next to it was Fred’s teddy bear, still stained even though I'd lost count of the number of times I'd scrubbed it. No industrial-strength stain remover at the end of the world.

I heard a short, sharp intake of breath and braced myself for a cutting remark, but instead he returned to his man-handling. Joel grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me onto the couch. He then bent down, took hold of my calves and lifted them up, forcing me to twist around so that I was lying flat. When he pulled off my boots, I hissed at his unforgiving hold on my bleeding ankle.

He made no apology, just dropped my boot to the ground and proceeded to yank off the other one.

I laid still and stared up at the ceiling, silently begging that he’d leave without uttering another word. He stood at the end of the couch, watching me like I was a rat caught in a trap. His brown eyes were black in the darkness of the room.

“You got a bed. No good reason to be sleeping on the ground.”

Exhaustion had me back in its grip, so all I could manage as my eyes closed was a mumbled: “What would be a good reason?”

A disgruntled huff. “Don’t be a smartass.”

A heavy weight was tossed over me. I clawed at the fabric, pulling it down until my face was freed and sucked in a breath as if I'd actually been at risk of suffocating. He’d thrown the blanket over me.

My eyes darted around but only caught a glimpse of Joel’s back as he was stepping back into the hall. His footsteps receded and then there was the unnecessarily harsh opening and closing of the front door.

Had I been less intoxicated, the entire interaction would have likely been confounding, but in the state I was in I just sank down into the couch cushions and shut my eyes and thanks to the alcohol, fell right to sleep.

My wakeup call was the sun that speared through the window and landed in my eyes. It split my throbbing head in half like a block of wood. My mouth was like sandpaper and something throbbed angrily behind my eyes. A hangover at forty was a different beast altogether.

I’m not sure how long I stayed inert and wallowed in my self-inflicted sickness, but eventually I did find it in myself to sit up, I swung my legs off the couch and edged forward and as I did so, my eyes fell onto the coffee table.

Fred’s teddy bear was right where i’d left it, but my gun was missing.

:✮:·

Thanks to the tour Maria had given me, during which she’d pointed out her and Tommy’s home as well as ‘Joel and Ellie’s across the way’, tracking down the thief didn’t take long.

My knuckles rapped viciously against his door, exacerbating the symptoms of my hangover and my anger all at once.

Just as I started to contemplate kicking it in, the front door swung inward and Joel filled the gap. It was obscenely early and yet he was already dressed in jeans, another plaid shirt with its sleeves rolled half-way up his forearms. I knew I was a ghastly sight and his displeasure was evident, but I gave him no chance to express that verbally.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth when you’re at my goddamn door.” He bit back.

“Give it back.” I held out my hand, matching his hateful stare.

Joel didn’t try to deny it, he didn’t even blink before he turned around and stomped down his hallway. I waited at the threshold, unwilling to enter his space.

Joel returned with the gun already held out, but when I reached for it, he pulled it back and left my fingers to clutch at the air.

“Don’t be a fucking child.” When I lunged for the gun that now hung in the hand at his side, he enclosed his other one around my wrist.

“You plannin’ on using it?” His voice was strained, as if pressure was being exerted on his neck.

“No.” I sneered sarcastically. “I just think it makes a nice table decoration.”

Joel’s hold tightened and the pads of his fingers pressed into my pulse point. The touch lingered long enough that it felt like he was tracking my heartbeat, but he soon let go.

He did let me take back the gun then, but when I put my back to him he asked:

“Why bother?”

“What?” I wouldn’t turn back to speak to him. I didn’t know what expression he’d end up finding on my face.

Wooden floorboards creaked beneath him as he shifted in place. “Killing yourself here or out there- it makes no difference. Why come with us when Tommy asked? Just means someone has to clean up after you.”

I wanted to see it. I thought. It came to me only then, having not really considered it before that moment. I wanted to see the place that could have become home if both Fred and I had made it.

I shook my head and continued on.

Joel’s voice stopped me again. I hated that it stopped me. Why didn’t I just keep walking?

“If you were sure, you would’ve done it already. You wouldn’t have walked with your head streamin’ blood for as long as you did before sitting down by that tree.”

I looked back at him over my shoulder. “I’m not dragging it out because I want to live, Joel. I just haven’t decided what the actual punishment is: life or death.”

“Punishment for what?”

“He died.” I didn’t offer Joel more than that and left him standing in his doorway.

:✮:·

In the two weeks that I had been in Jackson, I’d spent more time on the floor of my living room than anywhere else. My body protested in its stiffness, almost threatening to atrophy, but I could conjure no will to stop it.

I had no will to do anything at all.

So, it was night and I was yet again, flat against the floorboards, staring up at the stain on the ceiling.

I hadn’t shut the door properly on my way in, something which was signalled to me by the noise coming from the hallway. The wind blustered through the gap, taking every opportunity to rush inside and whisper to me.

The door would hit against the jamb and then creak open. Shut. Then open again.

I had realised almost as soon as I’d laid down, but found myself unable to get up again to close it. So the cold invaded, a pervasive chill that had settled over everything, pricking the skin on my arms on the way down to my bones, attempting to freeze them too.

It didn’t help that I’d just dropped down on top of the blanket instead of crawling under it, leaving myself protected by only sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt.

The noise of the door didn’t bother me. It had a sort of soothing rhythm. Open, shut. Open, shut. The wind whispered through a wooden mouthpiece.

Just out of curiosity, I'd put my fingers against my wrist: the noise was almost in time with my heartbeat.

Outside, the dark clouds which had spent all day swelling to an ominous, bruised bloat had finally burst. Rain lashed against the windows as though it endeavoured to break the glass.

With my fingers still on my wrist, I felt my pulse jump as my front door slammed shut. I waited, but it didn’t creak open again. The wind’s whisper had been quieted.

I don’t quite know how I didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. I must have been more out of it than I’d thought.

“Catchin’ your death from the cold is slower than a bullet.”

I wasn’t startled by the sound of Joel’s voice. I wasn’t angry or even confused. It was more of a disquiet, that the noise of the wind and the door that I had used to ground me for the last hour or so had stopped so abruptly.

The feel of my pulse became an unwelcome sensation. I pulled my fingers away from my wrist.

I didn’t sit up. Couldn’t yet. It felt like there was a physical weight on my chest: grief sitting there, spiteful and malignant but unseen. Maybe I’d spent so long on the floor I’d fused to it.

Joel moved closer and that time, I heard his footsteps.

“You left your door open.” He said.

He’d stopped right by my feet. I could feel the scuffed soles of his boots brush against my socks. There was something about his presence that prompted a slight buzzing behind my eyes.

“I noticed.” I answered.

“Where’s the gun?”

I didn’t baulk at the question, or feel a familiar flare of irritation, I simply reached back, my hand questing beneath the pillow where it wrapped around the grip. I pulled the weapon free and held it up.

“Why is it under your pillow?”

If I had known Joel better- or just known him at all, I might have been able to tell what exactly the tone of his voice signified.

“I want it close, in case of intruders.” I said glibly.

I lifted my head just enough to make out the shape of Joel, a dark, unmoving mass and shifted my hold so the barrel was directed at him.

“Don’t point that fucking thing at me!” He snarled, his boots knocking against my feet as he lurched forward. “Put it down. Now.”

I was thrown into the memory of the day we’d met in that clearing, when he’d barked the same order with a rifle pointed at my head.

I let my arm drop and the gun clattered onto the floorboards.

He might have mumbled something under his breath then, but I couldn’t make it out. The buzzing was intensifying.

Joel moved forward and soon his large form filled the gap between my body and the couch. He crouched down, his knee brushing against my thigh. He picked up the gun and tossed it onto the couch.

“Still sleeping on the floor.”

My head rolled to the side and I found his eyes in the dark. Outside, the wind howled, the rain like stones thrown against the windows.

“I don’t really sleep.” I told him. “Doesn’t matter where I am.”

“You don’t sleep.” He repeated my words in a tone that I was far too untethered to pin an emotion to. If there was any emotion in it all.

“Why are you here?” I asked, if only to fill the silence.

I missed the sound of the wind through the gap in the door, considered asking him to go back and open it again but then thought better of it.

“I was passin’ by.” He said.

I chose that moment to force myself to sit up. Being around another person coerced me into some kind of self-awareness and I realised I was in a vulnerable position: him looming over me.

Once I was upright, the details of Joel came into focus. He was soaked from the rain. His tan coat darkened by patches of moisture. A grey-flecked curl fell over his forehead. I was much closer to him when upright. Close enough that I felt the warmth coming off him, flooding the freezing room.

My skin began to prickle.

“Why were you passing?”

“Hmm?” Joel hummed, Then, still kneeling he shifted closer to me. The knuckles of the hand thar he used to hold himself up, ran along the outside of my leg.

“It’s late.” I said thickly. “Why were you wandering about in the rain?”

Joel huffed as his eyes dropped to the ground. Perhaps he’d only just realised he was touching me and decided to take a look. He didn’t move his hand away. “You about to give me a lecture?” He asked.

I shook my head. “No. Tell me.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Is all he offered.

“You’re dripping onto my floors.” I said, drawing attention to the tell-tale noise that had been poking holes in the silence between our speech.

Joel’s thick brows rose, as if he was affronted. “Oh, they’re your floors? Thought you weren’t sticking around.”

The double meaning swelled in the air between us, taking up space. It stole our breath.

Was that what I’d been doing in Jackson the past two weeks? Just sticking around ?

Yes, I realised. It was exactly what I’d been doing.

I loitered in the land of the living when I knew full well that I didn’t belong anymore.

“My floors, for now.”

The hand against my leg lifted and then passed across my torso coming to settle on my side. With me now partially caged in, Joel leaned closer, which left our faces only a hands breadth apart.

The cold from his damp coat felt like it was seeping into me.

“For now.” Joel repeatedly tersely. His jaw tensed.

“Yes.”

Then his eyes flicked to the coffee table- to Fred’s blood-stained teddy bear.

“Your kid?” He asked upon a strained whisper.

Yes. No. My child and yet not.

My nephew. My reason for living. Mine.

Almost of its own will, my hand shot out and grabbed the collar of Joel’s coat. I held him so tightly I thought my knuckle bones might split my skin. The action inadvertently tugged him closer. His breath fanned out across my face.

“Don’t.” I warned him.

“Don’t what?” His voice had turned brittle, as if something within him was breaking. Perhaps it was his resolve.

“I can’t—” I spluttered out. “I'm not talking about that.”

About him.

Fred was still a part of me. Talking about him after his loss felt like surrendering further pieces of him; tearing of strips of my own skin, a slow flaying of flesh.

“Okay.”

“Don’t try to know me.”

Wanting to escape Joel’s unrelenting gaze, I stared at a bead of water that had fallen from his hair and rolled down his temple. I still had hold of his coat, the damp fabric bunched up between my freezing fingers.

“Who said that’s what I was doing?” Joel challenged, sounding almost insolent.

I made myself meet his eyes again. “Why are you here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He repeated, a stubborn set to his jaw. “Was walking.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Your door was open.”

“You could have shut it and kept on going.”

“Should’ve.” He admitted gruffly.

My shoulders sagged and I shook my head, trying to dislodge his unwavering gaze. It didn’t work

“I don’t want to talk, Joel.” I told him tiredly.

“Don’t have to talk.”

We watched each other closely. Carefully.

“Okay.” I uttered.

My breathing faltered as Joel’s calloused hand curled around my wrist and tugged, encouraging me to release my hold on him. I did immediately. Then, his other hand landed on my back and he began to guide me down. It wasn’t gentle, but the force didn't feel like an imposition.

When the back of my head hit the pillow, he clambered over me. One knee rested on the ground beside my hip, while the other nudged my legs open.

Joel sat back on his knees, his dark pupils trained on me as he unzipped his coat. I watched as he shucked it off and then tossed it onto the couch, right on top of my gun. Then he began to unbutton the cuffs of his plaid shirt.

A sensation that I thought had been lost to me long ago returned; something deep within me coiling tight at the sight of him rolling his sleeves up his toned forearms.

Then he crowded over me. His hands planted themselves on either side of my head. Joel held himself there, our chests brushed against each other, no longer enough space between us for them to swell with full breaths.

There was something suffocating about having him so near. Perhaps that’s why I welcomed it when he pressed even closer.

It felt almost as if Joel tried to cover my body completely with his and absorb me into him. He ran his hand down the side of my face, thumb grazing my cheek before he tucked my hair behind my ear. Then he pressed his lips there to whisper:

“If you want me gone, say it.”

“If I don’t?” I asked breathlessly.

Joel’s breath was hot against the side of my face and it faltered ever so slightly before he spoke again.

“Got something that might help you sleep.”

We stayed like that as his statement dissipated in the air like smoke. Even when it went, the scent lingered: heady and overwhelming.

I lifted my hand tentatively and let it fall on the back of Joel’s neck when he didn’t flinch from it. I don’t know I’d expected him to. I ran my hand up and my fingers collected drops of water until they curled into the hair at the nape of his neck.

In answer, Joel ran his lips down the shell of my ear and then nipped the lobe with his teeth. My eyes fluttered shut at the slight sting.

Joel was solid, tangible enough that he grounded me. He was something that wasn’t going to slip through my fingers. And yet he was utterly detached from me, after this, he would drift away untethered.

I knew whatever happened between us would be fleeting; melt away with the sunrise like frost. I wanted it that way.

My hands fell away from the back of Joel’s neck as he pulled back. Not far, just enough so that he could grab the band of my sweatpants and tug them down, my underwear going with them. He reached the curve of my ass and lifted my hips so that he could pull the clothing free.

I shivered at the rush of the freezing air of my exposed flesh, but Joel was already crawling back on top of me, his warmth returning. I stared up at him as he took two of his own fingers into his mouth. He pulled them free and they glistened with his own spit. Moistness gathered between my thighs accompanied by an agonising throb.

Joel pressed his chest to mine, my hardened nipples pressing through my t-shirt and into his.

When his fingers ran through my folds, my head fell back. He wasted no time, pressing firmly on the way down before he pushed them inside of me. He held them there, no doubt feeling me pulsing around him.

His mouth fell against my neck, not kissing, but holding me flesh between his teeth as he began to pump his fingers. The movement was almost languid, his digits rippling inside of me.

My breath stuttered and my hands lifted, falling on either side of his neck just for something to hold onto.

Joel’s mouth closed into an almost kiss against my pulse point and the little hum he let out vibrated through me.

The tightness deep within me intensified, but just as I began to grow close, he pulled his fingers out of me, leaving an ache in his wake.

But then there was the clink of his belt buckle and his hands fumbled to pull it free. I moved to help him, my fingers brushing against his own that were slick with me.

He submitted to my help and his hands returned to either side of my head as I pulled the belt free of the loops and let it drop to the ground. I went to work on the fly of his jeans, now desperate and panting, but he would not abide my help in that endeavour.

He murmured disapproval and took hand into his and held it above my head. He did the same with the other one and cuffed both of my wrists together with just one of his hands. With the other he popped the button of his jeans and the undoing of the fly soon followed.

His fingers ran through the sensitive flesh between my legs and gathered up some of the slickness there. He kept his eyes on my face as he took himself in the same hand and spread my arousal over his hardness.

My t-shirt had been shucked up to reveal my belly. His eyes flicked to the ugly scar just above my pelvis only briefly.

When Joel lined himself up at my entrance, I let my eyes flutter closed. It had been so long, but I didn't care. I wanted him inside me, to feel him moving. To feel pleasure. Anything to keep the numbness at bay.

Joel pressed himself inside me with a hard thrust. A low groan came from his throat and the hand holding my wrists tightened.

Our hips aligned. And then he began to move, rolling into me, the force of the movements pushed me along the floor, rumpling the blanket beneath me.

When I lifted my feet and wrapped them around his hips, intent on driving him into me even harder, Joel groaned in pleasure. His head dropped low again and his lips skimmed over my temple, then brushed over the still healing gash on my forehead.

Pressure built within me as he pounded relentlessly. The sound of our fevered joining and ragged breathing blocked out everything else, even the wind and rain beyond the house. In that moment it didn't really feel like there was a beyond. Just him.

When I murmured his name, Joel released my wrists. My hands immediately ran up his neck and over the sides of his face. Right when I brushed past the scar on his temple, he pressed his lips against the wound on my forehead.

He thrust into me with such a bruising force that my pleasure burst, my release rolling through me in a violent shudder. I dug my nails into Joel’s hair and his thrusts became sloppier, slowing until he was just grinding his hips against mine.

His hands mirrored my own and he cradled my head, his forehead pressed to mine as he came inside of me.

We stayed like that, our sticky skin pressed close, until our breathing calmed.

Joel pulled out of me and then sat back on his haunches. I felt him looking at me so I shut my eyes again.

I don’t remember much after that before I drifted off.

:✮:·

When I woke up, I was alone. There was an ache between my legs, but it wasn’t painful. I was fully-clothed and tucked beneath the blanket. Almost warm.

But, while I was glad that Joel was nowhere to be found–it had felt like an unspoken agreement between us–something else was missing.

My gun was gone. Again.

Bastard.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller smut #smut

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eternalstarlitwonderland · 3 months ago

Text

Girl Among The Stars

With a silvery flicker, her effulgent glint pierced through the darkness

Vanquishing the tenebrosity within

Fluorescent butterflies scattered everywhere, and they fluttered throughout

Brightened the tenebrous emanation

Observing the once-glorious terrace becoming a shattered and fragmented shell of its former self

Wandered through the intergalactic ruins, accompanied by some of the butterflies

Being fascinated by its gradual transition from glorious to fractured in a matter of seconds

She situated herself on one of the fragmented pillars and looked up at the sparkly skies

Gazed up at the twinkling stars above

Softly illumined in its starlit glint

Pondered about her legacy and how she would be remembered by future generations

She knew that she was immortal, yet she wondered if and only if

When her time came, she slowly turned into dust

Her legacy will live on through the stars and their brilliant flicker

A fluorescent butterfly landed on her fingertips and delicately illuminated

Starlight softly whispered as the butterfly irradiates

Exquisitely illumined her delicate porcelain features

The pure white glint softened her piercing brilliant blue orbs

The opalescent glow still smoldered, softly drifting overhead the galactic sky

The effulgence heals her wounds

She succumbs to its blazing coruscate

Her eyes are slowly closing

Her body relaxes to the warmth gleam

Falling into an astral slumber, and engulfing her in its refulgence

With a silvery scintillate, she was awakened by its effulgence

She knows that she's not familiar with this cosmic atmosphere

She asked herself how she got here

By an effulgent flicker? Or By a refulgent gleam?

Who knows...

She's here in the cosmos, being caught by the lustrous light, glistering brightly

Her porcelain white skin illuminated in its cosmic luminesce

Seeing quintillion stars brightly twinkling

Nestling in the Orion's belt

She notices a bright light coming toward her

That light was very familiar

The warmth gives her a sense of comfort

Although it was faint, it remaining

A fluorescent butterfly appears once again, and its phosphorescence keeps her company

With a silvery wink, she basks in its ethereal shimmer

The Milky Way brilliantly resonates in the cosmos

Shine glary brilliant

The cosmos and its thrilling wonders

A sanctuary away from the constant battles

Allows her to decompress and unwind

At Last, she feels at home, In a macrocosm so far away

The cosmos welcomed her with open arms

Its astral gleam warmly embraced her

She was so heartened to be truly embosomed

Then she knew that she belonged among the stars

#my writting #written by me #astronomy #stars #my words #words #starry writes #original poem #poem #poetry

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drchucktingle · 2 years ago

Text

romance

way 'high brow' folks look down on romance as a genre is so ridiculous as if there is something wrong with creating stories about one of most visceral powerful connections out there for buds to make. romance is not trashy (unless you want it to be with a little wink) it is HONEST

(dont worry to my aro buds i said 'ONE OF' most visceral powerful connections there are PLENTY of aromantic trots with that kind of potent cosmic might that prove love too)

#love is real

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writingduhh · 7 months ago

Note

Hello love :)

I was wondering if you’d write about Schlatt meeting y/n at a coffee shop and she is the barista.

Like he comes in every day, and y/n remembers his order and eventually they 💞fall in love💞

Hello my darling dearest! I can absolutely do that for you 😭 so wholesome I love it

Jschlatt || Coffee Shop Romance

Every morning, as the sun gently spilled its golden hues across the city, Schlatt found himself stepping into the quaint, aromatic haven of "Brewed Awakenings." It wasn’t just the robust coffee that drew him in day after day, but the gorgeous barista who knew his order by heart—Y/N.

At the counter, y/n, with a bright smile and quicker wit, prepared his order before he even reached the front of the line. She knew it by heart—double espresso, a splash of cold milk, no sugar. Over time, what started as casual exchanges bloomed into conversations filled with laughter and subtle glances.

"Double espresso, splash of milk," y/n would announce, sliding the cup across the counter

"You know, you could try mixing it up one day. Surprise me," Schlatt suggested one morning, his tone light but curious.

Y/n’s laugh was a melodious sound that seemed to linger even as she replied, "Oh, and risk the wrath of a coffee connoisseur? I dare not."

Their banter became the highlight of Schlatt's mornings. He found himself lingering a little longer each day, finding excuses to chat with y/n, whose insights on everything from coffee beans to cosmic stars captivated him. He wasn't alone in this burgeoning affection; y/n looked forward to those early morning moments more than she cared to admit.

One rainy morning, as the shop hummed quietly with fewer customers than usual, Schlatt took a chance. As y/n handed him his usual, he held onto her hand for a second longer.

"Would you like to grab coffee sometime? Outside of here … I mean," he stammered, his voice a mix of hope and hesitation.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat, her usual composure wavering slightly.

"I think I'd like that," she smiled, her hand still in his. "But only if I get to pick the place. There’s this little spot across town that supposedly tops this one. Don’t tell my boss I said that.” She winked.

“It’s a date then, and my lips are sealed.” Schlatt grinned, his usual confidence restored by her acceptance. They laughed, the sound mingling with the calm chatter of the patrons.

In that little coffee shop, among the steaming mugs and morning rushes, y/n and Schlatt found something unexpected and wonderful—each other.

#chuckle sandwich #chuckle sammy #ted nivison #jschlatt #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt hcs #jschlatt fluff #jschlatt imagines #jschlatt imagine #jschlatt fanfic #schlatt hcs #schlatt x you #schlatt x reader #schlatt imagine #schlatt

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from-memphis-with-love · 8 months ago

Text

Magic Man

Summary: Elvis breaks in a virgin. Word count: ~2,200 words of pure, unadulterated smut inspired by this post. This is purely a work of fiction, and from what I have read of how Elvis actually treated his lovers in real life, is probably a lot less tender and loving than the actual Elvis would have been. But it's make believe and fun, so enjoy it! Warnings: 20 year age gap, dubious consent at some points, full intercourse, course language. Somewhat callous treatment of Elvis' taste for younger women.

His bedroom is a gilded cage, dripping with excess and the stench of hedonism. Elvis's entourage has left them alone, finally, after weeks of teasing glances and knowing winks. Tonight, it’s just him and his prey—sweet little Molly van Patton. All night, she’s tried to resist, but his primal aura is too strong to deny. He’s charming. Dangerous. A seasoned, world-famous rock star. And she's just a 19-year-old innocent, trembling on the edge of womanhood. Just like he likes ‘em.

Their meeting felt like some sort of strange, cosmic joke. She wasn’t a fan, hadn’t even intended to go see his show. But her best friend convinced her, one thing led to another, and now here she is, somehow lying in his colossal bed like a tiny helpless creature, her presence filling him with a burning desire to crush and destroy.

Now, he traces his lips down her neck, pausing to nuzzle at the hollow of her collarbone. Sweetly at first, then more insistently as she drags long, jagged breaths. Molly can’t help but gasp under the full weight of him, her body opening up in ways she’s never experienced before. It’s heady and intoxicating and dangerous and delicious and—

Oh. Oh.

Each touch sets off an electric current, making her arch closer. She runs her fingers through the thick hair on his chest, feeling the cool metal of his gold lion's head medallion pressed against her own breasts. But as he reaches for her waistband, she hesitates.

“Stop,” Molly trembles. Heat flushes her cheeks. "I’m not… I don’t…"

Elvis nuzzles her neck. His hand is dangerously close to unzipping her skirt. He’s in a taking mood tonight.

“Please,” she pleads. “Won’t they know what we’re doing in here?”

Elvis chuckles, a low, deep rumbling sound that vibrates through her very bones. “Baby, they don’t care. They’re probably already placing bets on how long you’ll last.”

Molly's heart plummets into her stomach. Of course they knew. All those knowing glances and hushed whispers, they’d known all along. Her face flushes and it's all she can do to grab her things and run.

But Elvis doesn't give her time to process this newfound knowledge. His insistent lips find her earlobe, nibbling it lightly as he whispers lewd suggestions she can't comprehend but her body understands. Against her better judgment, heat pools between her legs, and she bites back a moan of desire.

"Just one more," Elvis purrs, his voice thick with want, sending shivers down Molly's spine. "One more’n I'll stop.”

But one more turns into two, and then three, and before she knows it, she’s powerless under him. She feebly attempts to push him away, but his strong arms grasp her tighter. His grip is firm but not quite enough to leave bruises. Not yet at least. But she knows it’s coming. Braces for it. His lips find her neck again.

The heat between her thighs grows unbearable, and she clenches them together, as if that could stop the freight train that is Elvis Presley. As if it could cool the fire raging through her veins. She’s never felt so alive, so free, so needed and… so scared, as she does tonight in his arms. But as he inches lower, kiss by agonizing kiss awakening something primal inside her, Molly panics.

This is really happening.

She’s about to give herself to a man she barely knows, a man nearly twenty years her senior. One who could crush her like a fly if he wanted to. Her heart kicks into overdrive, adrenaline coursing as she manages to shove him off.

“No!” she cries out, the word catching in her throat. Molly’s outburst gives Elvis pause. Hurt and confusion flash across his face as he pulls back, propping himself up on one elbow.

“What is it?” his voice is gruff but not unkind.

Molly turns her face away, cheeks flaming. How can she tell him? That despite her adventurous friend and all the talk, she's never actually… that he would be her first.

Elvis regards her steadily. Impossibly long black lashes curtain the genuine concern in his eyes. Molly's pulse throbs in her ears.

"Please don't make me say it," she whispers finally. Molly squeezes her eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall. But a single drop escapes, trailing down her cheek.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "It's just… I've never…"

Understanding dawns on Elvis' face. He brushes the tear from her face with surprising tenderness.

"Never been with a man before?" he asks gently.

Molly shakes her head, a furious blush creeping up her neck. She expects anger, derision, rejection. For him to throw her out and call for the next girl.

But instead, Elvis tips her chin up to look at him. "Oh honey," he murmurs. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Molly's breath catches in her throat as Elvis regards her with unexpected tenderness. His hands, which moments before seemed so insistent, now caress her face and arms with featherlight touches.

"I was afraid you wouldn't want me anymore," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elvis shakes his head, a sad smile on his lips. "Oh darlin', that don't matter one bit to me. I want you, Molly girl. I want to make you feel real good."

He drags his thumb over her bottom lip and Molly shivers. She knows she should leave, should find Doreen and book it out of there before she does something reckless. But the way Elvis is looking at her, like she's the only woman in the world… it makes her feel powerful. Desired. Dangerous.

She... likes it?

"Just relax and lemme take care of you," Elvis murmurs, his breath hot against her ear. With that, the last of her resolve melts.

His hands, knowing and sure, explore her curves, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She moans, melting into him, her body betraying her. She's scared, yes, but she's also aching for more. He senses her hesitation, easing her back even further, parting her thighs with a tenderness belied by the impressive size of his hands. His eyes are hungry, admiring the perfect, trembling creature before him.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, running a calloused finger along her jawline. His words were like sweet poison, both thrilling and terrifying. "Shh, baby," he coos, "I gotcha."

He kisses her, his lips firm yet gentle, as if he can taste her innocence. Her first kiss, her first everything, all with him. She was born for him.

His lips trail down her breasts, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Molly arches into the sensation, the soft scratch of his stubble against her skin. His hand slides down to her stomach, fingertips tracing the sensitive flesh just below her belly button.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks hoarsely. She shakes her head, unable to form words. "Say it, Molly girl." He presses a kiss to her hip bone, nipping lightly at it.

"No," she gasps. "Don't stop."

He smiles against her skin. "Good girl," he purrs before lowering his mouth to where she's aching for him most.

His tongue flicks forward, teasing her entrance and Molly cries out, her fingers curling into the silk sheets. She looks down at him—somewhere down there—through one open eye.

"Is that what... are you supposed to be—"

Before she can finish her sentence, his hands grip her thighs. Fear and desire battle within her, but desire wins out as curious pecks and licks turn into long, languid strokes. Bracing himself, Elvis feasts on her, like she's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. She finally opens her eyes and there he is in all his glory: lapping at her, coaxing the desire out of her body and onto his waiting tongue. Wave after wave of pleasure courses through her. "Oh God," she whuffs out, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice wonders what everyone else must be thinking. But then Elvis's tongue buries itself deep within again, soft and wet, and all thoughts vanish into thin air. His hands grip the soft flesh of her hips, guiding her closer to him as he laps at her vulnerable center. She's never felt anything like this before, the pleasure so unbearable it hurts.

"That's it, baby," he growls into her glistening pussy, "ride it out."

And she does. His tongue flicks and swirls, plunging inside her, mimicking what she imagines is his impressive length.

By now, the whole house must hear her moans, but she doesn’t care. She’s coming undone whether she wants to or not, and she’s never felt more alive.

“Oh, Elvis,” she moans, her voice high and desperate, “Oh, I—”

Molly van Patton shudders and bucks against him, her first ever orgasm coursing through her body like wildfire. He doesn't stop though, not until she's sobbing and spent, her juices coating his face. He looks up at her through hooded lids, a satisfied smirk on his full lips.

“I ain’t done with you yet.”

He moves up her body, his manhood hard and throbbing against her thigh. Her entrance flutters in anticipation, and Elvis smiles at the sight. He positions himself there, large and intimidating.

“Relax, li’l girl,” he whispers in her ear. “I’ll be real gentle.” Molly looks up at him, eyes wide, pleading.

“You sure you want this?”

She nods dutifully.

“Say it f’me, now.”

“I want you inside me.”

That’s all he needs. Before she can take it back, he slides in an inch, and then another. He’s so big, stretching her so wide she’s certain she’ll split in half. Certain he'll pierce her and she'll never be the same again. Tears leak from her eyes, mixing with the mascara from earlier.

“Shh,” he soothes, “I got you.” His accent is thicker than usual, sweet like molasses. Slowly, bit by excruciating bit, Elvis works himself inside her tight heat. Molly bites her lip to stifle a moan, but it escapes anyway.

At that, Elvis groans, and then he’s entering her more and more until he bottoms out. He's still for a moment, ensuring she can truly take in all of his length. “Tell me how it feels,” he grunts, as he slowly picks up speed.

“It hurts,” she pants out. But it’s a delectable sort of hurt. He’s filling her up in ways she never thought possible. Each thrust has her teeth bitting his shoulder tighter.

“I know, baby,” he coos into her ear, “but it gets better, I promise.”

And somehow, it does. The pain eases and is replaced with a delicious ache that has her hips rocking towards his.. Heat pools in her belly as he claims her with every thrust, like she was made for him and only him.

“You’re so tight,” he moans. “Made for me.”

It’s a mantra, a vow, as a he pistons in and out, breaking her in with every stroke. Her climax from before was nothing compared to this. She’s soon whimpering, clawing at his back, an evil sob stuck in her throat.

"That's it, baby," he pants, "give it all to me."

Elvis pulls out swiftly, leaving Molly empty and aching. In one smooth motion, he flips her over onto her stomach.

"On your knees," he commands.

Molly whimpers but obeys, presenting herself to him on all fours. Elvis groans at the sight, gripping her hips tightly.

He enters her from behind in one powerful thrust. Molly cries out, the new angle allowing him to penetrate her even deeper. Elvis sets a ruthless pace, pounding into her relentlessly.

The sound of slapping flesh fills the air as he claims her, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. He hits a spot deep inside that has Molly seeing stars. She pushes her hips back to meet his brutal thrusts, unable to get enough.

"That's right, take it," Elvis growls. His breathing is labored in her ear, hot and ragged. Sweat beads on his brow, dripping onto her shoulder blades, but he doesn’t relent. “You’re taking me so good. You love it, don’t you?”

She does. Oh, God, does she ever. Fuck it. If this was wrong, she didn’t want to be right.

He keeps pounding into her, and it's dizzying and intoxicating all at once. The room spins as she clings to the headboard for dear life, his name a curse on her lips, a talisman against the building pleasure-pain coiling in her core. His pace quickens, hot breath on her neck, and his thick chest hair tickling her back.

“El… vis…” she mewls. “Right there!”

He obliges, his expert hands massaging her swollen clit as he pounds into her from behind.

“Yeah, just like that,” he rasps as Molly bucks against him, working the length of his cock with her slick and pushing her hips back to meet his brutal thrusts, unable to get enough. It shocks him how quickly she took to his cock. Elvis’ fingers dig almost painfully into her hips, urging her on. “That’s right, take what you need.”

"Elvis, I..."

The pressure builds, coiling in her belly like a spring. “That’s my girl, let it go,” he growls in her ear, and that’s all it takes.

Her body explodes into a million stars, tightening around him as she screams her release. Just like that, it hits her all at once—from heaven and hell itself, crashing over her like a tidal wave and even more powerful than the first. Colors dance behind her eyelids.

Elvis’ nails dig into her back, and she can feel the delicious sting as they break the skin. “Unnngh,” he grunts, “I’m fuckin’ close.” The filthy words spur her on, and she clenches around him, the fluttering of her walls easing up, and suddenly she’s slowly floating back to earth and back to life and back to his gigantic bed in his gigantic mansion in Memphis, Tennessee. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel.

He growls and buries himself even deeper, his thrusts erratic and desperate now. Harder and harder until he, too, splinters apart, shattering inside her like stained glass. He grunts, his release warm and sticky deep inside her.

Later, Elvis cocoons Molly in his strong arms and starts to rock her gently. As she drifts off to sleep, she knows there's no going back.

She's his now, body and soul. That’s the price she paid for giving in to her darkest desire.

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfiction #elvis fans #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis x oc #elvis fic #elvis smut #elvis presley smut #big daddy elvis

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jburrgf · 2 months ago

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Prudence Girl.

We could stay alone, you and me and this temptation, sipping on your lips hanging on by thread.

pairing: joe burrow lsu x reader (becoming enemies to lovers)

summary: after a year at LSU, your best friend finally convinces you apply to be a prudence girl.

description: college life, frat party, kiss

—————————————————————

It was a relief to be far from home. From Ohio in general.

Now, I have to put up with my best friend, Tracy Evans, rambling about the fraternity and sorority homecoming at LSU and how much she’d love to be part of Prudence.

Prudence, by the way, is a sorority mostly run by a clique of cheerleaders. They all live in a huge house, practically Republican HQ, where they throw parties almost every week.

I find it cosmic and weird that the name is also a condom brand. But hey, no judgments here.

“We have to go, y/n.” Tracy grabs my shoulders, shaking them. “We can’t miss this!”

“Freshmen can’t miss it, and we’re not freshmen,” I say, winking at her. “At least, not technically. I still feel like one, tho.”

Tracy rolls her green eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong, y/n. It’s not just freshmen who can’t skip out. Prudence pledges can’t either.”

“And why does that matter to us?” I ask, frowning.

“Because, my dear, if we pass tonight’s initiation, we’ll be Prudence pledges,” she says, winking as my jaw slowly drops. “I signed us both up.”

“You what?” I get up from my chair, furious. “If you want to be a Prudence Girl, Tracy, go ahead, but don’t drag me into it!”

Tracy rolls her eyes again. “Don’t be dramatic,” she says, stroking my cheek. “You don’t have to go through initiation if you don’t want to, or even join Prudence. I just want your company, you know, moral support and stuff.”

With her puppy-dog eyes on me, it was impossible to refuse. Sighing heavily, I nodded.

“You owe me, Tracy Evans!” I growl, grabbing my black jacket and throwing it over a white T-shirt that says, “Don’t look at my tits, perv” as I leave the room.

I walked across the dorm with a scowl on my face. Sure, it’s good to be away from home, but it’s not like Cincinatti is a paradise. It’s not even close.

“Hey, y/LN!” I turned my head to the left, where Alyssa Powell was calling me. “Love the shirt.”

I roll my eyes with a faint smile. “What’s up, Powell?”

Me and Alyssa knew each other from the hallways of LSU. She wasn't like a friend of mine, but she was cool to talk to.

“I need ya’ help, y/n,” she says, biting her lip. “You know I don’t get along with Abby Griffin, right?”

“I think the whole campus knows, after she grabbed the principal’s megaphone and announced she’d make your life hell.” Aly grins at the memory. “Go on.”

“I need a reason to stay in Prudence,” she continues. “And a great reason would be to mentor a pledge during initiation. And I saw your name on the list…”

Oh, no.

“Aly… Look, you’re awesome, smart, funny…extraordinary!” Aly smiles, blushing. “But no way.”

“Why not?” She pouts. Oh boy, here come the sad faces again.

“Because I have zero interest in being part of Prudence,” I reply, tucking a strand of curls behind her ear. “Mentor Tracy. She really wants to join you guys.”

Aly sighs. “She already has a mentor,” she says, her voice pleading. “Abby made sure every pledge had one before I could even consider it. I’m surprised you don’t have one yet.”

“Oh, that’s simple. I hate every Prudence Girl,” I say, shrugging. “Including you. But I hate you with love, you know?”

I watch Alyssa laugh, throwing her head back.

“Y/n, look, I wouldn’t be here begging if it wasn’t important,” she says, grabbing my hands. “My mom graduated as a Prudence Girl, so did my aunt, and my older sister. It’s a family thing, you know? I can’t screw it up just because the leader hates me for sleeping with Joe.”

“Wait, what?”

I had no idea about it. Fresh gossip, I guess?

Joe Burrow was the new sensation on campus for the last six months. He was QB1 from the LSU Tigers and didn't lose any games in the regular season — at least not until now. I didn't know that guy very well, and honestly, I like it that way. I'm not into jocks, especially the ones with massive egos.

“Yeah. She doesn’t like me because I hooked up with her boyfriend once, that’s all,” she says, shrugging. “Please, y/n…”

I stare into her brown eyes, at her wild curls and clothes far too bold for a university.

“Okay. On one condition,” I say, watching her smile grow wider and wider.

“Anything!”

“I want a room with Tracy, just the two of us. That, or no deal!” I cross my arms.

“Deal!”

[…]

When I return to my dorm, Tracy is there, jumping around to an ‘80s song, dressed in pink leggings, a black crop top, leg warmers, and a headband holding back her blonde hair. She looked ridiculous. Ridiculously beautiful.

“What the hell are you doing, Evans?” I ask, climbing the bunk bed ladder. If joining Prudence means having my own bed on the floor, it might be worth it.

“Aerobics,” she says, smiling. “I do it every day after class for two hours. It’s exhausting, but it works.”.

“You should try it.”

“No thanks. I prefer my soft butt,” I say sarcastically. “Oh, by the way, I’m doing the initiation and becoming a Prudence Girl.”

“What? Why?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be happy?” I frown.

“I am, of course I am,” she smiles. “But why? You were so set against it this morning.”

I sigh. “Alyssa Powell asked me,” I shrug. “If she’s not my mentor, Abby Griffin will kick her out of Prudence.”

.“Remind me to thank her later.”

I lay back on my pillow, thinking about what it would be like to share a house with dozens of girls. Rent is $100, slightly less than the dorm, but that’s not reason enough to join a sorority.

“How does this initiation work, anyway?” I ask.

“It’s really simple, almost childish,” she says, rolling her eyes. “The guys eat or drink something, then kiss us. If we guess what it was, we’re in.”

“Seriously? That’s it?”

“Almost childish, like I said,” she grins.

Then it hits me. “Wait! Guys? What guys?”

“What other guys, silly? Prudence Girls kiss Prudence Boys,” Tracy bites her lip. “I can’t wait to kiss one of them.”

I rub my face with both hands, already regretting agreeing to this mess.

“I bet you can’t.”

[…]

Prudence House was packed, full of students. Nobody cared that it was the initiation for the new Prudence pledges because it was one of the most anticipated parties of the year—alongside the Prudence fraternity’s homecoming, the Kappa farewell, and the random Acacia parties, all of them Republican houses.

Tracy made me wear one of her dresses, shorter and tighter than I had imagined. My best friend did my makeup and hair, not because I can’t get ready on my own, but because I take forever doing it.

In just an hour, I was perfectly ready, waiting for the campus lights to go out and the pink lights of the Prudence sorority, in the back street, to take over. The house was ridiculously large—after all, it housed almost thirty girls—with many rooms, many bathrooms, and a huge party hall. It was in this hall that I stopped to observe the beige walls.

“Stop looking at things like that, you look like a child,” Tracy murmured, elbowing me.

“Sorry, mom,” I teased, hiding a smile. “This place feels like a museum.”

Tracy didn’t respond, maybe because she agreed or maybe because Abby Griffin was making her way toward us, looking determined.

Abby Griffin was the type of girl with queen bee energy. And she really was, technically. For the past two years, she was the “Prudence Queen”. I never knew how we became friends — actually, I didn’t even have the idea that she knew who I was.

“Y/n y/ln, I presume,” she said, eyeing me with superiority. “Alyssa’s new recruit.”

“In the flesh,” I smiled at her.

“The initiation will start shortly, in the backyard. If you're late, you’re out.” I could see in her eyes she wanted to add "along with Alyssa," but she held back.

“We’ll be there.”

Tracy squeezed my hand and pulled me outside in a matter of seconds, making me roll my eyes dramatically.

When we arrived outside, a line of women stretched across the lawn, their nervous and anxious faces clearly marking them as potential pledges. Everything would depend on a stupid kiss from a guy.

Alyssa found me when I got to the end of the line; including Tracy and me, there were twelve of us, the maximum number allowed per semester. Aly smiled and held my hands.

“Your room is already reserved,” she whispered. Aly glanced around, checking the area before leaning in to whisper, “Coffee candy and mint gum.” To disguise her words, Aly gave me a quick peck. “See you later, Prudence Girl.”

I held back the urge to groan that "Prudence Girl" and "Prudence Boy" sounded like names for a girl group and boy band—and they also actively reminded me of condoms, of course. I could make that joke later, after surviving the initiation just because a fling had kindly asked me to.

Tracy watched us with a smile; a nod from her confirmed she had heard what Aly said.

I would call this cheating if I cared about this whole mess.

“Welcome, everyone—brothers, sisters, pledges, and nosy students,” Abby Griffin began, silencing the crowd. “Tonight, we’ll be welcoming our new sisters—those who, of course, pass the initiation.”

Tracy squeezed my hand. Sneaky little thing.

“The initiation is as follows: we have a dozen Prudence Boys here, but you won’t see them until after you've kissed them.” At that, each mentor handed their pledge a black blindfold and placed it over our eyes. “Each guy has tasted something different—maybe a strawberry, maybe whipped cream, maybe vodka... Your job, during the kiss, is to figure out what was in his mouth before he kissed you. Good luck.”

Apparently, a line of twelve boys stood in front of us, aligned like we were. But we wouldn’t be kissed all at once.

I had to endure the sounds of sloppy kisses for several long minutes, along with guesses of foods or drinks—all of them correct.

Tracy squeezed my hand one last time before letting go.

It was her turn.

More kissing sounds, longer than usual. I rolled my eyes beneath the blindfold.

“Coffee candy!” Tracy shouted, earning applause and cheers.

Now it was my turn.

I felt the approach of someone who smelled of cheap cologne and sweat, and I automatically grimaced. This was clearly Abby’s doing.

But before the guy could mess up my night, a voice stopped him.

“Step aside, Oliver.” The body heat from the boy faded as he stepped away, and someone else approached. This one smelled of Dior Savage and coconut shampoo, and I honestly like it more. “She deserves someone better.”

“And you’re that someone better, Burrow?” Oliver, I assumed, yelled.

There was no response. Instead, soft lips covered mine, kissing me gently, while a hand slid to my neck, holding me in place, at his mercy.

An overwhelming sense of déjà vu hit me.

But his mouth didn’t taste like mint gum. Oliver surely would have, but this intruder had interfered.

I didn’t know whether to thank him for sparing me from the sweaty guy or curse him for confusing my mind.

I was still being kissed. His lips pressed lovingly against mine, and at the end of that affectionate wildness, three soft pecks were left as his hand released my neck.

Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap.

The once-noisy crowd had gone completely silent. Not a single person was saying anything.

Nothing. Not even a whisper.

I focused on the taste left in my mouth, where his tongue had roamed freely.

“What the hell was that, Burrow?” Abby yelled, probably storming toward us.

I didn’t dare remove my blindfold, afraid of what I’d see. Of who I’d see.

“You weren’t supposed to kiss her!” Abby continued.

Someone leaned toward me, and from the scent, it was him again.

“Do you have a boyfriend, darling?” he asked with the sweetest voice he could do it.

“No.”

“Then yes, I can kiss you.” I pressed my lips together as they argued.

“No, you can’t! You took Olly’s place!” Abby shouted back.

I cleared my throat, embarrassed.

“Chocolate,” I suddenly said, silencing them. “You ate chocolate before...”

A soft gasp escaped the boy, low and pleading, before his mouth claimed mine again.

Oh my God...

“Joseph Burrow!” Abby shrieked, furious, while the boy ignored her completely, more interested in caressing my lips with his own.

Damn, this feels so good!

A strand of my hair was tucked behind my ear as my lips were reluctantly released.

“Congratulations, Ohio girl. You’re a Prudence Girl now.”

I felt like I could faint at any moment, but I didn’t remove the blindfold, because I knew who I’d see if I did, and I wasn’t ready for that.

#joeburrow #joey burrow #joe shiesty #nfl #cincinnati bengals #joseph lee burrow #nfl imagine #Spotify

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halfmoth-halfman · 1 year ago

Text

a little small talk, a smile, and baby i was stuck

Pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Medic!Reader Word Count: 2.4k Warnings: fluff, medical inaccuracies, bruises, kinda hurt/comfort, gaz's helicopter curse Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters.

When Soap mentions the new medic, Gaz doesn’t think much of it.

It’s not that he doesn’t care; he’s just too preoccupied thinking about the upcoming mission to give it any real thought.

That is until Price sends him to retrieve a folder from the infirmary, and he quite literally runs into you. It’s neither of your faults; he’d been walking in just as you were leaving.

It’s a cosmically comical series of events.

You stumble back, rushing out apologies when your foot catches on his, and you nearly fall back into the infirmary. Gaz is quick to react, grabbing you by the waist to keep you from falling and pulling you back up to your feet with a strength you don’t expect.

You’re left staring at the face of this handsome stranger, your hands braced on his chest and his gripping tightly onto your hips.

A beat of silence as the two of you regard each other before a smile breaks across your face, laughter spilling out of you, and Gaz is immediately taken with you.

Your hands leave his chest, and he loosens his hold on you enough for you to step back and put some space between you. It takes a minute for you to compose yourself, your laughter dying down into tiny giggles. You extend your hand, giving your name and a stunning smile.

“Um, hi,” he smiles back, shaking your hand. “Gaz. Or Kyle. Either works; it’s whatever you prefer. Most people call me Gaz, though...but Kyle’s fine, too!”

A single smile, and you’ve got him stumbling over himself like a teenager.

He’s thankful you’ve stepped back from him. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you felt the way his heart hammers against his ribcage.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Gaz, and/or Kyle,” you laugh, giving him a teasing wink.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, you too.”

“And thanks for the save–” You step around him, his honey-brown gaze following your every step. “–I’ll see you around?”

God, he hopes so.

“Yeah, see you around,” he nods. You give him one last glimpse of that beautiful smile before turning on your heel and disappearing down the hallway.

Gaz stands outside the infirmary for an extra five minutes, staring in the direction you’d gone, a hopeless smile on his lips.

The doors click open, another medic stepping out and staring curiously at the soldier standing before him.

“Sergeant Garrick?”

Gaz snaps out of his trance.

The folder. Right.

Gaz finds every excuse he can to go to the infirmary.

He’s the first to volunteer if Price needs something from one of the medics. He lets Ghost get in a few extra hits during training. He’s even started to look forward to those pesky migraines he gets every few weeks.

He’s sure the others have started to notice. They don’t say anything, but he’s caught the small, knowing smile on Price’s face every time he returns a few minutes late from the infirmary.

The other medics are starting to catch on, too, he thinks. They’re always strangely absent whenever he shows up, suddenly busy with something on the other side of the room.

He can’t find it in himself to care, though. Not when he walks into the infirmary and sees your gorgeous smile as you cheerfully greet him.

“Price need something again?” you ask, smile dipping in a small frown when Gaz shakes his head. He holds up his hand, showing off his bruised and slightly swollen knuckles.

“Missed a throw during training,” he sighs, mouth tugging into a sheepish half-smile. “Got any ice?”

“Sit down.” He sits on the closest chair, watching you shift into doctor mode. You’re a good medic, you take your job seriously no matter how little the injury, and you seem to genuinely care about your patients. It’s one of the things Gaz lov–likes about you.

You pull up a stool, sitting close enough for your knees to touch as you examine his hand. Your soft, efficient fingers turn his hand this way and that, lightly pressing against the bruises on his knuckles.

“How’s the pain, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Barely a two.”

“Can you make a fist?”

He does, and you let out a quiet hum.

“Wiggle your fingers.”

“You want me to pat my head and rub my stomach next?” he jokes, moving his fingers. You pinch his hand, eyes flicking up to give him an annoyed look, but he can see how the corners of your mouth twitch up.

“Nothing looks broken or sprained,” you explain, sliding away from him to fetch some cream and gauze. “I’ll wrap it, but you should take it easy for a day or two and let the swelling go down. Come back if it doesn’t or if the pain starts to get worse.”

Gaz nods as you sit back down and get to work on his hand. He tries not to shiver at your gentle touch as you treat him, praying you don’t notice the gooseflesh that appears whenever you touch him.

“Sure thing, Doc.”

He lets you work in silence, content to watch you.

He wonders if you know your nose scrunches when you’re trying to focus.

“All done,” you say, smiling proudly at him while he examines your handiwork.

Gaz flexes his hand, the bandages not too tight, and hums in satisfaction. “Not bad, Doc.”

“Not bad?” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. He chuckles, a surge of confidence as he meets your eyes with a genuine and thankful smile.

“It’s perfect. You’re the best medic in the entire world. I am eternally grateful.”

“That’s what I thought.” You both know he’s teasing, but Gaz can see the way you straighten just a little bit more, your smile growing a little bit wider. “Now get back to work, and try to be more careful. For my sake.”

Gaz stands as you begin to clean up.

“If I was careful, you wouldn’t see me as much.” He’s teasing, but you freeze, your back to him as you finish washing your hands.

He hopes he hasn’t overstepped.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you sigh, turning to him with that same beautiful smile. “I’d miss you too much.”

He doesn’t get to reply as you’re called away by another medic, but he's positively beaming for the rest of the day.

Three months.

They’re estimated to be gone for three months, at least.

That’s three months away from base, away from you. After seeing you nearly every day, Gaz isn’t sure he’ll be able to handle being away from you for so long.

There’s nothing between you two, not officially, anyway. He knows he has no right to worry about you–about being away from you–when he hasn’t even properly asked you out.

You aren’t his…yet.

Anyone with a working set of eyes can see how you smile and laugh and flirt whenever you talk to him. He’s noticed how your gaze lingers on him when you think he isn’t looking or how you always find a reason to touch him whenever you’re near.

He’s at least ninety-six percent sure you'd say yes if he asked you out. He just has to gather the courage and do it before he has to leave.

His nerves get to him every time, and it isn’t until they’re four days out from departure that Soap decides he’s had enough and drags him to your office.

“Yer not leavin’ until ye ask them to dinner,” Soap huffs, knocking on the door before Gaz can stop him.

“Are you out of your–”

“Hello?” Your door opens a few inches, and you stare curiously at the two sergeants in front of your door.

“Doc!” Soap beams, putting his hands on Gaz’s shoulders to push him toward you. “Gaz has a question for ye!” He gives Gaz a good clap on the back before turning on his heel and leaving.

“Do I want to ask?” You blink at Gaz, one brow raised.

“Probably not,” he sighs. You stare for a moment, eyes bouncing around his face as you take in the small bags beginning under his eyes and tense shoulders.

“You want to come in?” you ask, stepping back to open your door further. Gaz nods, and you allow him into your office, closing the door behind him.

He sits in one of the chairs in front of your desk, unusually silent. He stares at your desk, something heavy weighing on his mind.

“Everything okay?” you ask softly, taking the seat next to him and placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“We’re leaving in a few days,” he mutters, frown pulling at his handsome face.

You swallow around the knot in your throat, “I know.”

“We’ll be gone for a while.”

“I know.”

“Do you–would you–” Gaz groans, leaning back in the chair and scrubbing his hands down his face.

Why is this so hard?

“Kyle?”

Gaz sighs, hands falling into his lap as he stares up at the white ceiling of your office. He peers at you through the corner of his eyes, heart aching at the worry and concern on your face.

“You’ll be here when we get back, yeah?”

“Of course, I’m not going anywhere,” you answer instantly. “Just–”

You stop yourself, teeth worrying at your bottom lip. Your gaze drops down to your lap, where your fingers twist and fidget with the ends of your sleeves. Gaz straightens in his chair, hands flexing as he debates whether or not to reach out to you.

He doesn’t, frozen to the spot when you look up and meet his gaze with watery eyes.

“Just promise you’ll come back in one piece.”

He shouldn’t. You both know that. It’s a chance he takes any time he steps off base; there’s no guarantee he’ll come back.

He won't make you a promise he doesn’t know if he can keep.

Gaz takes your hands in his, squeezing softly, pouring as much assurance as he can into the gesture.

“I’ll do my best.”

You choke out a laugh, a few tears slipping down your cheeks.

“You better.”

Gaz wakes up to the heavy smell of disinfectant and the steady beeping of a heart monitor.

It takes a minute for everything to come back to him. He remembers the gunfire, trying to get on the helicopter, Price yelling orders in his ear. They were in the air, and then an impact, and then…

They crashed.

He shifts, his entire body aching, bones groaning in protest. He groans at the pain, trying to swallow down the hurt.

“Gonna undo all their hard work if you keep doing that.”

Gaz turns his head to the right, finding Price sitting next to him in one of the infirmary chairs. He’s not looking at Gaz, busy filling out paperwork instead.

“Where’s–”

Price shushes him, nodding his head to Gaz’s other side. Gaz follows, his breath hitching when he finds you curled up in another chair, fully asleep and using a folded jacket as a pillow.

The heart monitor beeps with the skip of his heart, and Price chuckles quietly.

“Is that your jacket, sir?” Gaz asks, trying not to bring any more attention to the obvious.

“It’s yours. Gave it to them to help calm them down.” Price glances up at him, a knowing smile on his face. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

Gaz opens his mouth to speak, but you groan softly, shifting in the chair before your eyes blink open. Your brow furrows as your gaze travels up his body and lands on his face, where you finally meet his eyes.

Gaz watches you process before you’re out of the chair, checking over every inch of him and firing off question after question.

“It’s okay. I’m alright,” he laughs, ignoring the ache as he lifts his arm to softly press his hand to your cheek. “I’m here, love.”

“You–” Tears stream down your cheeks, and Gaz wipes them away with his thumb. “You absolute bastard! I thought you were–”

You don’t say it. You can’t say it.

Instead, you lean forward and bury your face in his neck, careful not to tug on any of the IV chords.

Gaz whispers soft comforts into your ears, lighting kneading at the base of your skull as he lets you cry into his shoulder. Price gives him a look, a silent question if he’s alright. Gaz nods, and Price stands to take his leave and give you two a moment alone.

You cry yourself out, pulling away and furiously wiping at your cheeks. “Don’t ever do that to me again, Kyle.”

Gaz laughs, soft and affectionate, “I came back in one piece, right?”

“You–” You’re trying to be mad, but he sees the smile you’re trying to bite back.

“I know, I’m the worst,” he grins. “Promise to make it up to you, though. How’s dinner sound?”

“I think you at least owe me dinner and a movie,” you joke, voice thick with emotion.

There’s that lovely smile.

“Dinner and a movie. Done.”

“And breakfast.”

“Moving a little fast there, sweetheart.”

You huff, folding your arms over your chest. “You’ve got three months’ worth of dates to make up for.”

“Fair enough.”

Despite the dull pain that vibrates across his body, Gaz smiles as he traces a hand along your jaw and pulls you forward into a sweet kiss.

A soft knock at your office door interrupts your focus on the paperwork spread out over your desk.

“Have you got a minute?” your husband asks, peeking his head in through the door.

“For you? Always,” you grin, happily abandoning your paperwork as Gaz walks in, closing the door behind him.

You meet him halfway, arms winding around his neck to greet him with a kiss.

“Wanted to stop by before we have to head out,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling you back in for another kiss.

Three years later, and he can’t help but fall in love with you every time he sees you.

“How long will you be gone this time?” you ask, pulling away to settle your head in the crook of his neck.

“A month, maybe two.”

You sigh, warm breath fanning across the skin of his neck. Gaz hums, taking your left hand in his to press a kiss to the ring on your finger.

“Promise you’ll come back in one piece,” you whisper softly, looking up at him with a teasing smile. Gaz chuckles, turning your hand over to glide his lips over your palm to the pulse in your wrist.

“I’ll do my best.”

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #mw fics #moth writes #private

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